Little Bells Ringing
by Isir
Summary: Esma works in her father's restaurant. Living without a mother or siblings, she is expected to rely on her pushy cousin Maher when going outside. One day a peculiar assassin takes a liking to their tasty meals. Though the food is not the only thing that has caught his attention.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** I do not own any of the characters of the franchise Assassin's Creed. They belong to Ubisoft. All original characters and situations are fictional. Resemblances to real persons or events are coincidental.

Also, I am not a native English speaker, so please bear with the grammar and spelling errors.

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**LITTLE BELLS RINGING**

One

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She stared at his hand, unable to tear her gaze away from an unfamiliar, but strangely intriguing sight of a hand with only four fingers. Where his ring finger should have been was only a sad stump. Suddenly it struck her where this mutilating tradition was from. Her grip around the tray in her hands tightened.

The Assassins' Brotherhood.

_Lower your gaze, Esma! _She quickly averted her eyes and made her way back to the kitchen. Her palms were sweaty. Should she inform her father about this... man? It would probably be better not to make a scene and wait. He looked normal enough for now.

She started to beat the dough to distract her mind, but she could not withhold herself from glancing at the hooded man's table every now and then.

"You're overdoing it, Esma," said her father, Maghrub, who peeked over her shoulder. His sudden appearance startled her and she let a little gasp escape. "Did I surprise you?" The man withdrew and smiled. "It seems like you are holding a grudge towards the dough!"

"Gracious, father. Yes! You startled me…" Her glance flicked towards the hooded man again though he seemed peaceful enough with his cup of juice. She looked down at the dough. "I think I was relieving some pressure?"

"Pressure from what?" The older man started to chop up some beautiful, red meat. "Has someone been bothering you?" He paused momentarily to look at his daughter.

"No, nothing of that sort," Esma immediately replied. "You know that Maher has been accompanying me whenever I need to go somewhere."

In reality, she did not like her cousin Maher's company. Sometimes he would get too close for comfort, which is why she preferred to go alone. She didn't have the heart to tell her father this as his brother and his son Maher were the only family he had in this town. Her mother died while giving birth to her younger sister, who died of illness at two years age. She would not want to cause any more grief to her father.

Their restaurant was good business in Jerusalem. Her father had a gift for cooking. His humble efforts in combining the almighty Lord's providing seemed to really please the other brothers and sisters.

"I have been told that Maher is not always around—" Maghrub stopped midsentence when he noticed the hooded customer raising his cup towards them. "Ah, Esma, it looks like our brother wants some more sap."

Esma looked to his table. The man seemed to be in thought. She wiped her hands to a wet cloth and with feigned calmness she made her way to him.

"A refill, brother?" She strained a smile on her face. Her fingers clenched around her apron.

"Yes, please." His voice was surprisingly pleasant; it was calm and collected. "It's good sap," he added. He raised his head and looked at her. His hood obscured most of his face, but she could see his straight nose and somewhat dry lips where a scar ran across.

"Thank you." She quickly collected the cup and retreated to the back. Somehow she could feel him staring at her back, but she did not want to turn around to confirm the feeling.

After she had brought him another drink, he asked her to order a good dish for him, a large serving he emphasized. While the man talked, Esma could not help but glance more than once to the dangerous daggers that were strapped to his robe. Sweat started to form in beads on her brow.

_How many people had died by those blades?_

She forced herself to smile after he finished speaking and quickly returned to their open kitchen. With a small sigh she leaned against the counter and looked up to her father.

"The man wants a good dish. A large serving."

"A good dish?" Maghrub repeated as he rubbed his beard. "How about I prepare your favourite meal? At least we know that's one dish that's favourable!"

Lamb with vegetables and bread. It was a relatively simple dish but quite popular and absolutely delicious seeing as how her father prepared it.

"Sure," Esma nodded in agreement.

After a while Maghrub served out the shiny pieces of meat mixed with vegetables on a plate. He put the bread over it. "There you, my dear. I hope he'll like it."

"I'm sure he does," Esma replied and tried to smile reassuringly to Maghrub, although she surely was trying to calm herself rather than her father.

She made her way to their only customer in the saloon, unnerved by his mere presence.

"All praise to the Lord for sustaining us food," Esma said as she put the dish down in front of the hooded man. "Please enjoy your food!"

The man gave a nod of approval, "Thank you".

Again that calm voice, void of any ill intent.

"You're most welcome, brother," Esma replied, feeling slightly confused by the mixed impressions the man made. She briefly glanced at his face once more before turning around.

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**Beta reader: **Simply Laura.

**Author notes:** Just before bedtime, I like to write little bits and pieces… I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it :-) More to come. /Update: revised chapter.


	2. Chapter 2

Definitions:

Fajr = morning prayer at dawn.

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Two

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She cupped water in her hands and washed her face; the cold wetness instantly refreshed her. As she looked up into the mirror she noticed the tenseness in her face. She watched little droplets drip from her skin and blinked, causing one droplet to slide from her eyelashes and softly plop on her cheek, from there making its way to her chin.

The stranger from yesterday had been no ordinary man. By just looking at his attire and armour, she assumed he had to be an Assassin. What else could those daggers and bracers indicate to? She shivered at the thought of the weapons actually killing another person.

_I fed a killer yesterday, _she muttered to herself soundlessly.

Perhaps she should have mentioned her suspicions to her father after all.

Footsteps sounded and someone entered the washing room, pulling the door close firmly behind him.

"Why look into the mirror, dear cousin?" Maher's voice boomed through the room. "It's not going to make you any prettier, you know."

"Peace upon you, Maher," Esma said to her cousin's reflection in the mirror and made sure to ignore his remarks. Did he just close the door behind him? She threw a glance over her shoulder to look at him. "What are you doing here?"

"Peace upon you as well, Esma!" He strode towards her as he brushed a light brown lock out of his face. "Silly cousin. I'm here to help out Uncle! You should know that." He dipped his hand in the water. "Did you do Fajr today?"

Esma backed up and reached for a towel. "This early in the morning?" She slightly frowned. "And of course I did Fajr. Did you?"

"I couldn't get up. You should wake me up next time," he winked at her.

_Ugh, _Esma thought in disgust. Maher's winks were the worst; indecent and unwanted. "If the Lord wills it," she answered languidly, "but you should take your prayers more seriously."

"Oh, what's one prayer. It'll be fine." He looked himself over in the mirror and gave his reflection a charming smile.

Esma pressed her lips together in wear as she watched her cousin. _Such a vain man_. She shook her head in disapproval and quickly continued to the kitchen.

Her father was already busy getting the dough in the oven. When he noticed her coming in, his face instantly brightened. "Peace upon you, my dear! I hope you slept well."

"May peace be upon you as well, father. I did, thank you. Did you let Maher in so early on the day?" She made a waving gesture to the washing room and refrained herself from pulling a face.

"Couldn't really let him stay outside, could I?" Maghrub chuckled. "Don't look so gloom, Esma. He's a good son. May the Lord reward him."

Esma sighed. Aside from Maher's daily share of annoyances, her father was probably right; he was always willing to help her father after all.

"Anyway, Esma, I need you to bring some freshly slaughtered sheep. Maher will help you carry, but make sure to be careful, because there is another execution today by Majd Addin at the plaza." Maghrub suddenly seemed worn out. "So it might be crowded on your way to the butchery."

"Ah yes, that's right, the executions by Majd Addin." Esma cast her eyes down. That sorry man.

"Did I hear Majd Addin?" Maher said as he walked into the room. "Who is he accusing of crimes they have not committed today?"

"I don't know," Maghrub curtly answered. "I don't want to busy myself with what that man does."

Esma sighed, "May the almighty Lord guide the innocent". She took a few of the freshly baked breads and handed one to Maher.

"Oh, thank you, cousin!"

"Don't mention it. Don't want you to starve to death while you're here."

"Achmed's has really good sheep," Maghrub said as he wiped his hands dry to his apron. He pulled out his pouch and counted the coins he needed for the trade. "It doesn't need to be big, just pick one that is fit and take it to the butcher." He handed his daughter the coins.

Esma dropped them in her own pouch and looked up to Maher. "Shall we go then?"

"Whenever you're ready," Maher replied with his mouth full.

الله أكبر

From afar Esma could already see the wide crowd that had gathered around the execution plaza. As they drew closer she could see that some people were eager to see the 'criminals' hanging, while others protested loudly against Majd Addin's quick judgement. There were four persons tied to the rack, none of them really looked like a high rated criminal, except the first man who wore something that resembled an armour. Then again, how did one know how a criminal looked like? An old lady caught her eye, she was the last one in the row and had her head hung low in defeat.

"Unbelievable," Esma muttered under her breath. "They even have this old lady for prosecution. Never before did we have so many executions as now. They can't be all criminals."

"I wonder," Maher thought aloud, "Majd Addin couldn't be wrong over all of them. Perhaps one of the four is actually guilty. Like the first one, he doesn't look all too righteous."

Esma turned to look at her cousin, "Weekly executions? That's just plain madness. By the Lord we were born and by the Lord we will return. That's how it should—"

"BAAAH!"the young sheep on the leash bleated, drawing its owners' attention.

Maher grinned and leaned in towards his cousin. "It seems our child can't wait to go the butcher."

Esma moved out of his way and ignored his remark. "You are right. It's not like we contribute anything by watching Majd Addin perform the executions. If anything, he probably feels even more powerful to have gathered such a wide crowd."

When she turned to continue her way, Maher suddenly grabbed her arm, his fingers pressing into her smooth skin firmly. "Hey Esma," he said in a husky voice while he pulled her towards him. "I have something to ask you."

The sheep bleated again, but was ignored this time.

Esma blinked and looked into Maher´s eyes. "What is it?" she asked with a less steady voice than she had intended.

Something about him unnerved her, perhaps it was the look in his eyes; they had a different kind of glint in them than usual. She tried to pull her arm back, but Maher's grip was too strong.

"Will you let go, please? I dislike you touching me."

"This counts as touching you?" Maher asked incredulously. "I'm barely touching you, cousin. Now listen, I want to know why you are acting so distant with me. You are evading me."

"What?" Esma uttered in dismay. "What are you going on about?" She tried to pull away, but Maher was surprisingly stubborn. "We shouldn't make a scene on the streets," she hissed.

"There's no need to make a scene," Maher retorted with a hard squeeze in her arm. "It's just a simple question!"

"You're hurting me," Esma reproached with a glare. As she figured he would not let go, unless she'd give him an answer, she began to explain, "I am not acting distant with you and I'm certainly not evading you. I am here at the plaza with you right now, aren't' I?" She clawed at his hand with her hand that was holding the sheep's leash, but it was to no avail. "You should be ashamed of yourself; acting this disrespectful towards your own cousin!"

Maher squeezed in her arm again in response, making her flinch in pain. "I run around all the time to help you get things done. I think it's you who doesn't respect me! Why won 't you show some gratitude?"

"You mean this? Aren't we running errands for father? He's your uncle! If you can't do something sincerely without wanting something in return, then I'd prefer you not help at all!"

"Tell that to your father! See what he'll do without me!"

All of a sudden someone shoved against Maher's back powerfully, causing the young man to stumble forward and hit to the ground.

Esma gasped in surprise and jerked her head up to see a person dressed in white pass them. In a flash she recognized the dangerous attire and the strong body build; it was without a doubt the same man from yesterday! Fear grasped her heart, but at the same time she wondered in amazement if he had just pushed Maher off her. She stared after him in astonishment.

The sheep bellowed in indignation as the man carried himself towards the execution plaza with a calm and confident stride. Esma swallowed dryly. Suddenly it struck her that this man might be out to kill someone in the crowd. With everyone focused on the execution it was a perfect distraction for this man to strike as no one would pay attention around them! She wrapped her hand around her mouth in horror at the prospect.

Maher cussed as he got up, his voice making Esma snap out of her thoughts. She looked down to her cousin, feeling upset over the way he had treated her and decided to go ahead without him. Unintentionally she followed the hooded man in white to the execution plaza. Her heart raced in her chest and she flicked her gaze around, wondering if any of the guards had noticed him.

The young sheep gave resistance as he was dragged along, making Esma clench her hands around the rope and pull him along with little patience.

Suddenly Maher ran past her, pointing an accusing finger towards his assailant. "Hey stop!" he cried in anger. "Why didn't you stop him, Esma?" he grit out between clenched teeth, but didn't wait for an answer as he continued his pursuit.

"Wait, Maher!" Esma called after him. "He could be... dangerous," she finished in a mumble as Maher was already out of hearing distance. She frowned in worry and watched her cousin run towards the crowd. Suddenly she realized with a start that the man in white was gone. Where did he disappear to so quickly? Had he blend into the crowd? Slightly confused she slowed her tracks, which the sheep seemed grateful for as it stopped resisting.

Maher was such an idiot for rushing after such a suspicious looking person! The man's disappearance probably meant he had not set eye on Maher, but his target must be someone from the crowd. Should she tell her cousin about her suspicions? Would they be able to prevent murder?

She looked up to the stage where the Majd Addin was having his speech. Even if she would mention the man's occupation to Maher, there was no way they were going to find him among the crowd. Making a scene might even get them killed with the corrupt tyrant overlooking the plaza.

The sheep bleated loudly and jerked against the leash, forcing Esma to take a few steps forward. Just as she was about to call Maher, a desperate cry emerged from the crowd. With wide eyes Esma witnessed the mass of people break apart. The fear and panic on the faces of the people made her freeze on the spot. Had she been right? Had the man made his victim among the crowd? Feelings of regret overwhelmed her as she wondered if she could have prevented it by speaking up sooner.

"MAHER!" she yelled. The sheep bleated loudly with her. "Maher, where are you?"

The panicked crowd surged past her. A woman bumped into her and pushed her aside with her flailing arms, carrying an expression of sheer despair on her face. Another person tripped over the leash of her sheep, resulting in the rope being pulled out of her hands in a grating motion. It was just enough force to knock Esma down. She yelped as she fell to the ground, catching her weight with the palms of her hands painfully. Shaking her head she could just catch a hint of white as her sheep disappeared into the frenzied mass.

She defensively raised an arm in an attempt to prevent being trampled by the people and tried to get up, but the pushing of other people made it nearly impossible. Why was everyone in frenzy? Was the murderer on a killing spree?

"_Murder! Murder!_" It sounded around her.

Who had been murdered? Her heart beat rapidly in her chest, making her breathing ragged. She tried to get on her feet again, but her long skirt hindered her from doing it quickly. Someone bumped against her shoulder, making her stagger on her feet.

"Get out of here before you get killed!"

"What happened?" Esma called out, picking up her skirt as she started to run, following the woman that had addressed her.

"Majd Addin has been assassinated! Right in front of everyone's eyes!" the woman said out of breath.

"_What?_ Majd Addin was killed?" Esma exclaimed in shock. That was a completely unexpected answer! She threw a glance over her shoulder, trying to make out what had happened to the remaining crowd. There wasn't much to see except for running people and even disassembled guards. The guards seemed confused as some were even trying to climb up the buildings. "Who killed him?" Esma gasped as she turned back to the woman.

"It was a tall man dressed in a white, hooded robe; couldn't see his face at all! Obviously someone like him wants to stays anonymous!" She snickered over her own remark.

Esma's breath faltered. How anyone could even manage a smile at a time like this was beyond her grasp. The description the woman had given fitted the man from yesterday perfectly. Was he the one who had killed Majd Addin? By the Lord, _killed... _She suddenly felt lightheaded.

How could anyone even have the heart to _kill _another human being? Then again, Majd Addin did execute innocent people. If this had been the reason that had driven The Brotherhood to assassinate Majd Addin then perhaps The Creed was not as evil as she had initially believed. Though they were still assassins, taking lives in cold blood!

Even if the crowd had not seen his face, she would never forget his features anymore. That well-formed jaw and the straight nose had all belonged to a... would definitely recognize him and this very fact scared her.

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**Author notes: **/Update: revised chapter! Added about 700 words. Glad to see you still sticking around :)


	3. Chapter 3

Three

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Sweat trickled down her temples, but Esma could not care less about it at the moment. With her heart beating viciously in her chest, she put a hand at the doorway of Maghrub's Saloon and used the other hand to hold her side. Gasping for breath she slightly bent forward and dropped her head. The strong scent of freshly baked bread and meat reminded her that she had reached the safe haven called home; it welcomed her inside.

After a few moments she finally caught her breath and looked up into the saloon; there were a few customers present, all of them oblivious to the fact that their substitute leader Majd Addin had been assassinated. Her father was behind the counter as usual. When he took notice of her presence at the door, he grinned.

"Peace upon you, Esma! Come inside!"

Esma quietly stepped inside, her heartbeat was still racing and her head pounded painfully. How was she going to tell them this terrifying news? Also, she didn't know where Maher was or whether he was unharmed. How would she explain that? She made her way to the kitchen numbly.

Then, without any thought she blurted out, "Majd Addin is dead".

Maghrub's knife dropped to the counter with a sharp thud, the sound drawing the attention of the customers in the saloon; heads turned in curiosity. The older man's mouth stood agape and he shook his head as if to pull himself to reality. "_What_?" he sharply voiced. "Majd Addin is dead? How can this be? When did this happen?"

The murmuring in the saloon suddenly subsided; a rare silence overcame the room.

Esma's gaze nervously flicked around, painfully aware of the focus that had fallen upon her. "Someone assassinated him during the execution just now," she said, every syllable a hard task to push out.

As if on cue, the city bells suddenly began to ring urgently, confirming that the girl's words were no lie. Someone in the saloon roughly pushed his stool back and got up from his seat. Esma turned her head to look at the man and was taken by surprise when she saw the blissful expression on his face.

With his fist pumped into the air, the man grinned to Maghrub and Esma, "What a relief! Finally someone took care of that useless bastard!"

"The little bells ringing again," Maghrub muttered to himself, but when Esma's turned to look at him, he flinched as if he was caught on something. The man quickly cleared his throat and frowned. "Was it a rebel from the crowd?"

Esma cast her eyes down in thought. In a way Assassins were probably rebels, but certainly this was not what her father meant. "I don't know," Esma found herself answering. "When I arrived, the crowd suddenly erupted into chaos."

_The murderer has dined in our saloon,_ the thought raced through her mind, but she was determined not to voice it as it would be certainly bad for business. Then there was also the fact that this particular Assassin seemed to have aided her to get rid of Maher's unwanted behaviour.

Maher!

"Father, I lost Maher in the crowd!" Esma exclaimed in worry.

"Oh dear Lord," Maghrub muttered while frowning heavily and he wiped the sweat from his forehead. "I never should have sent you two today."

Esma bit her lip at the thought of anything happening to her cousin. "The... The Lord has willed things to go like this, father. I am sure Maher is unscathed." Suddenly she remembered the sheep that she was supposed to take to the butcher. She looked up at Maghrub in embarrassment and mumbled in a low voice, "I also lost the sheep".

"Never mind the sheep! That is of no importance at all." Maghrub rubbed his hands clean on a cloth and pulled the apron over his head. "I need to go find Maher."

"You are going out, father?" Esma gasped. "But it is dangerous outside! The bells are still chiming loudly. The Ass—" she refrained herself just in time to say Assassin, "culprit must still be out there somewhere!"

"It can't be helped. It was I who sent him out today. How will I face your uncle Hasan if I cannot even make sure his son is safe?"

Her father was right and she knew it, but the thought of anything happening to him was too unbearable; he was all she had. "You would know best, father," she finally said with a nod, though it was a reluctant one.

Maghrub stalked towards the saloon, his confidence apparent in his actions. "Brothers, but I am sad to inform you that we are closing the saloon momentarily to go out and find our missing family member. I pray to the Lord that today's occurrence will bring more good than bad."

The man who had cheered so gladly before seemed to feel bad about his excitement now. "Oh, please forgive my inconsiderate behaviour, Maghrub. I will pray for you to quickly find your relative!"

"May the Lord reward you," Maghrub replied, but the usual bright grin was missing.

He saw the remaining customers out and barricaded the main entrance.

"Esma, I want you to stay here and wait. If Maher comes before me, wait at the saloon together for my return."

Esma clenched her fists. "Please, _please_ be careful, father. The atmosphere outside is terrible at the moment; especially at the Execution Plaza!"

"It would seem so," Maghrub replied, "but it can't be helped."

"Praise the Lord," Esma muttered as she watched her father go from the window. "Let them both be safe."

After a while Maher suddenly showed up at the window. He had to reach his arm inside and thump the wall to draw his cousin's attention. "Esma! Are you alright? What happened here? Where is Uncle?"

The girl immediately spun around, her messy braid swinging over her shoulder by the whirl, and hurried towards the window. "Maher! Peace be upon you, cousin! Praise the Lord that you are unscathed! My father went outside to look for you!" Without waiting for his reply she ran towards the side door and called, "I'll open the door for you, please wait!"

Esma met Maher's handsome face behind the opening door and realized that she had forgotten and forgiven her cousin's rude behaviour before the assassination already. She felt sincerely relieved to see him unharmed and well.

He quickly pushed inside past her. "What did Uncle say before he left? Do we have to wait here for him?"

Esma nodded and pushed her hands together in a worried gesture. When Maher closed the door behind them, the realization struck her that they were all alone in the deserted saloon. She swallowed dryly and looked up to the young man to gauge his state of mind; he seemed to be distracted by all the fuss over the assassination of Majd Addin. Who wouldn't be?

"What a day," Maher muttered to himself and ran a hand through his brown locks a few times, then his eyes snapped up to Esma. "Did Uncle say which way he went?"

"He did not, but I would guess he must have gone towards the Execution Plaza, seeing as you were sighted there last by me. But you should stay here and wait, Maher. It's no use to go out and search for father. It would only become more complicated if you two kept missing each other's presence."

"That is true," Maher spoke and nodded in agreement. He seemed to relax a little. "Can you believe we witnessed the death of Majd Addin?"

"I couldn't quite make out what had happened," Esma said. "The people were all over the place." She looked down on her hands to see them trembling and defiantly clenched her fingers to stop from shaking.

"But still! It was so close! I don't know where you were at that time, but I was amidst the crowd when I suddenly heard screams of the people and the guards!" He threw his arms in the air to appear more convincing. "Unbelievable!"

"Yes, I agree," Esma nodded and averted her eyes.

Had that man in the white robe been the killer of Majd Addin? _The Lord had willed this to happen_, she told herself to soothe her fleeting thoughts. It was of no use to think about it now. _But he pushed Maher away from me when he became too comfortable with her._ Though there was no way in knowing whether the killer and the hooded Assassin were actually the same man.

Who was she kidding?

"Esma!" Maghrub's voice suddenly sounded at the window. "Has Maher returned—_Maher_!" The man's face folded in strange ways and then utter relief appeared on his visage. "Praise the Lord for your return, Maher!" he bellowed.

"Father!" Esma shot up from her seat. "Peace upon you, father!"

"I am here, Uncle. Peace upon you!" Maher answered while he waved to attract his uncle's attention.

The older man left no room for hesitation and immediately shot towards the door, which was still unlocked after Maher had entered –Esma saw no reason to lock the doors when Maher was with her. If anything, she would feel more at a disadvantage being locked inside a room alone with him. She was glad to know that her father had returned to guarantee her safety with Maher around.

الله أكبر

Nights and days passed and the assassination on Majd Addin stayed the main topic in Jerusalem. Gossip had never been something Esma was font of, thus she made sure to stay in the back when others would chat about the administration and Majd Addin's widows. The most important political matters her father would make sure to enlighten her with. Esma felt no need to deliberately meddle herself into their affairs.

She was squatted in the herb garden as she tended to the plants. The sun was already setting and fell warmly against her face, causing her forehead to perspire. After a while, she let her arms rest against her knees and dropped her head into her lap, wiping the beads of sweat against her skirt. It was hot like any other day in Jerusalem. Just like on the day of Majd Addin's assassination. A knot of discomfit stirred in her belly and she closed her eyes, trying to get away from ghastly memories.

Another realization made her break away from her thoughts: Maher hadn't showed his face in a while. Thank the Lord for that. She appreciated a break from his pushy behaviour. His unwelcomed advances always had her on edge and she was perfectly content without them.

Her thoughts quickly trailed off to the Assassin again. She had expected his face to be engraved into her mind after all the suspicions she had had about the man, but she was surprised to note that she only could vaguely recall what he looked like after several days. The only thing that really stuck to her was the scar that ran across his lips and the dangerous weapons strapped to his distinctive, white robe. Those traits were more than enough to still recognize him from a tight crowd; she was certain of that.

With a weary sigh Esma got back to her feet and patted the dust from her long skirt. She knew better than to speak up about her suspicions. If word got out that Majd Addin's killer actually was part of the Assassins' Brotherhood, the entire Creed would probably plot revenge against her and her family. She shivered at the possibility and quickly made her way back to the door.

Half-way through the garden a shadow suddenly pulled over her, making Esma raise her brows at the strange occurrence. She whirled around to look for the source of the shadow, but instantly froze on spot when she noticed the tall silhouette standing on the wall of their back garden. His strong body was turned towards her, blocking the rays of light that should have fallen on her if he were not there. This man... _it is Majd Addin's killer._

It was as if the realization slapped the girl in her face, knocking the breath out of her and making her blood run cold. Her eyes widened in scare and she staggered back.

_He is going to kill you! Run, Esma!_ Even though his intentions seemed apparent to her, her body would not move an inch. She could only stand paralyzed, looking up to him in utter fear. He knew that she had recognized him during the execution and now he was here to finish her so word would not spread. What about Maher? Had he killed him as well? Was that why she hadn't heard of him these past days? Nausea worked its way to her throat and her head suddenly felt incredibly light, making the girl blindly reached behind her to find some sort of support to keep herself standing.

Then his body moved; in a graceful motion the man leaped off the wall, the cloth of his robe stocking upwards by the impact. With a muted thud, the Assassin landed on his feet in a crouching position, just for a second, before he rose to his feet reaching an intimidating full height. He approached her in such a serene manner that Esma felt momentarily confused by the situation. Should she run? Yes, she should, but she could not. She didn't dare moving as she knew for certain that turning her back to an Assassin would end up in an ugly course. She doubted she could get away either way. Then she felt the wall against her back as she had subconsciously shifted backwards while he advanced on her.

"Y-you—" Esma stuttered, '_killed Majd Addin_', the words lay on the tip of her tongue, but she refrained herself from speaking them, "—were at our saloon the other day." With large, restless eyes she watched the silent man before her. She did not know why she talked and what she hoped to achieve with it. Her nerves made her form words that were beyond her control. "T-The entrance is the other way around," she uttered.

He stopped before her, there was enough distance between them to let her have her privacy, but it was definitely not far enough for her to try to escape in any way possible. From this distance the Assassin could easily dart forward to slit her throat in one simple, exerted motion. Esma swallowed harshly, her throat dry and painful by the simple action.

"Do not play dumb with me," he suddenly answered; his voice thick with impatience. "Have you told anyone?" He did not sound particularly angry, but it was of little comfort as the rest of his form seemed to emit hostility all over.

"_What_?"

While she had planned to keep her words to herself, her lips moved on their own and spoke her mind like an open book. Her heart painfully raced in her chest and the girl spread her hands against the cold stone in her back, her nails screeching over the grainy material. _Have you told anyone?_ Was he talking about the assassination of Majd Addin at the plaza? Esma swallowed again, barely being able to look at him. The more she would remember his face, the more of threat she would be, right? She took a deep breath, cast her eyes down and shook her head. Would this answer satisfy him? Was he going to spare her life? Esma could not withhold herself anymore and snapped her eyes up to look at the hooded man, hoping to find some sort of form of sympathy on his face.

He stepped forward, trapping Esma between his powerful form and the wall. "Are you planning to tell anyone?" The impatience in his voice had disappeared. Somehow he sounded calmer and more sincere this time. It reminded her of the time that he ordered a glass of juice from her.

She shook her head. Her legs felt numb and weak. The pounding of her heart was so loud that she could hardly focus on the man's words, and then there was her heavy breathing, overruling even the beating of her heart.

"What reason do I have to trust you?" His breathing was slow and composed.

Was there suspicion in his voice? Esma could not tell. She only knew that he was far too close if she would be able to hear him breathe. She pressed herself even further back against the wall behind her. He did not have any reason to trust her, a simple woman. _Oh my Lord, _she thought in exasperation and could almost feel her eyes roll into the back of her head. Fainting was not going to solve _anything. _It would all come down to this answer and she had to answer it well.

Her bottom lip quivered as she began to speak, "What... what drove you to assassinate the man?" This was it. Now it was confirmed that the man was Majd Addin's killer. In no way was he going to let her live after confessing this confidential information to her.

"Jerusalem has no needs for the likes of him," the man unexpectedly answered in a calm voice and he backed up a little, giving Esma room to breathe. "You must know what I am referring to."

The likes of Majd Addin... Corrupted politicians? "I think I do," Esma carefully said. "He would often convict innocents." Her green eyes looked up to the man before him, as if searching for an approval on her elaboration. "Despite that, you are from The Brotherhood. Weren't you ordered to kill him?" Oh Lord, why had reason abandoned her at such a crucial time? Anyone with brains knew not to confess to have knowledge of The Brotherhood, especially not when conversing with an _Assassin_.

There was a moment of silence which was so uncomfortable that it did not even occur to Esma that the man could stab her right here and now. He seemed too much in thought to perform any kind of attack.

The Assassin looked around the herb garden for a brief moment, before he answered, "Yes, but we do not kill in vain. Remember that. You'd do well to keep quiet about the matter. It will aid us in achieving our goal." His hazel eyes lingered on her face, but Esma barely noticed his gaze as his words seemed to have struck a sensitive nerve within her.

"Aid you in your goal?" she asked in disbelief, fear seemed to have left her body momentarily. "Which goal do you plan to achieve through _murder_? That is not the straight path!" _Oh my Lord, Esma, stop it! _But she would not stop. "How can you speak so certainly of not killing in vain? Only the Lord knows such a thing! It is arrogance that drives The Brotherhood—" Her words stalked in her throat as the man stepped forward ominously.

Scream? Fight? Drop to the ground? Esma squeezed her eyes shut tightly. She was going to die; there was no doubt about that. The chance for a correct answer the Assassin had given her had been wasted by her. _Oh Lord, please guide me..._ she prayed while she pressed her hands together in a desperate gesture; they were ice-cold as she entangled her slender fingers in a pleading motion.

Esma slowly sunk to the ground by her weakened knees. There was rustling, indicating that the Assassin had come even closer. Her body froze at the sound. Then there was his warm breath against her cheek, "You _must_ keep silent about the matter". His voice was gentle, but the sudden closeness made Esma jerk away and accidentally slam her head against the stone wall beside her. Her eyes sprang open with tears. _Violation even before my death_, she thought in indignation.

The man stepped back, he seemed to be taken aback by the situation for a moment, but then quickly composed himself. His next question came as a complete surprise to Esma, "Are you alright?"

Esma stared at him with her mouth agape. What?

"You seem alright," the man answered his own question with a small nod. He then turned around and climbed over their walls with such agility that Esma felt some strange kind of admiration for a moment. The next moment he was gone, leaving the girl alone in the garden.

Esma slowly reach for her head and rubbed over the part where she had smacked against the wall. Her eyes looked to the wall which the Assassin had climbed over. It was as if he never been in their garden. What had just happened? She touched her cheek; he had been so close that she had even felt his breath against her skin. Disgusting? That did not seem to be the right word. Perhaps she was still too perplexed to feel the right emotions. But one thing she knew for certain: she was grateful that he had spared her life.

* * *

**Author notes:** I need to finish the game when my tests are over (yes, yes, I am evading my necessary responsibilities), because I am really curious how Altaïr's personality unfolds throughout the games. Anyway! Hope you guys liked it. I enjoyed writing it anyhow –even though I should not be at the moment. /Update:Completely revised the chapter, added a good 2000+ words to the chapter. Hope it to be betaed as well in the future.


	4. Chapter 4

Four

* * *

The sun was hot, the air dry. Esma squinted her eyes as she walked down the streets, accompanied by the delightful Naveen, an old Qur'an classmate of hers. Both carried a water pot on their heads. It required the most precise balancing skill, but it had become like second nature to both women. They made their way to their homes chatting and laughing.

"So I told him there and then that I was not interested," Naveen said happily.

"Just like that? Such a blunt woman you are, Naveen!"

The person they were discussing was a young man who had proposed to Naveen. Even though he had approached her father prior, Naveen was keen enough to catch up with the news and turn him down with the reason being he was only twenty years old and still lived with his parents and siblings. The biggest reason was she just didn't like him.

"No, no, no," Naveen countered, "it's not blunt to stand up for yourself. I call it honest. You have to treat yourself with respect because if you won't, others sure won't either."

Esma pulled a face, not quite agreeing with her friend. "Of course you treat yourself with respect, but the key to being treated with respect is treating others with respect."

Naveen was quiet for a moment, obviously thinking over the statement. "Yes, I agree with that," she finally said. She would have nodded if not for the pot on her head. Then she grinned and looked at Esma cheekily, "What's your cousin Maher like?"

"Maher?" Esma repeated in surprise. He would not be her first choice to introduce to other people, but since Naveen asked, she obliged and began to describe the man, "He is quite the helping hand," she said, pondering over further good traits of him. She made a mental note to name his bad traits as well to give an accurate description. "He is the loud type, not shy to express himself. I also think he is stubborn, perhaps a little arrogant."

"What about women? How does he treat them?" Naveen seemed eager to hear about him.

How did Maher treat women? "He's alright around women, I suppose. Though sometimes I feel he might need a bit more self-control."

"Oh," Naveen said in disappointment, "and he was such a looker too… Do you think he'll change once he finds the woman of his life?"

"If the Lord wills it," Esma answered.

"There's nothing going on between you two, right?" Naveen asked carefully.

"Nothing at all. If you want, I could ask my father to arrange a meeting with Maher for you."

Naveen's face instantly lit up. "Really? You'd do that? That'd be great!" She slowed her tracks, forcing Esma follow her example in order to keep up with her, "I have go this way, but is it okay if I come to your house after I deliver the water?"

Esma smiled. "Yes, of course, you are always welcome! Don't ask for permission, just come by when you feel like it. Our doors are always open for you, unless we are out of course," she laughed.

"Praise to the Lord, you are beautiful inside and out, Esma!"

"Alhamdulillah. So are you, Naveen."

الله أكبر

"Peace upon you, father," Esma greeted as she walked inside their house. The saloon was empty as she put down the pot and wiped the sweat of her forehead with the back of her hand.

Maghrub sat on a chair, poking a siwaak between his teeth, but when he saw Esma he cracked a grin. "Peace upon you as well, dear!" He got up from his chair to pick up the water pot his daughter had brought, "It is too warm today, don't like this kind of weather."

"People will come later on the day, if the Lord wills it," Esma replied. "It's cooler inside than outside anyway. Also, Naveen said she wanted to come by today."

"Ghalid's daughter? Sure. She's welcome anytime."

"Yes, that's her." Esma leaned on the counter as she watched her father go to the washing room. "She said she was interested in getting to know Maher. Do you think you could arrange something for her?"

"Really?" Maghrub was surprised by his daughter's odd request. "How nice! I'll let your uncle know about it. Perhaps we could have dinner sometime."

"I think she'd like that very much."

Esma rolled her sleeves up and started gathering ingredients for sweets. She had craved for almond basbousa for days and today she finally had some time to make them. She started grounding the almond to fine pieces.

"What are you going to bake?" Maghrub enquired upon entering the room.

"Some varied sweets. Should I bake a lot for sale?"

"No, that's alright, but you might want to bake some extra we could hand out to others."

Esma nodded as she took in what her father had to say, "Good idea."

The sweets were already in the oven when Naveen arrived. "Peace upon you!" she called to Maghrub and Esma. She breathed the odour in extravagantly and pulled a satisfied face. "Smells delicious. Almonds?"

"Varied sweets. You can be the taster," Esma winked.

"Praise the Lord! I'm honoured," Naveen grinned. She looked around her and said, "There's no one here yet today".

"Yes, yes," Maghrub answered with a hint of impatience, he waved with his siwaak. "If the Lord wills it, there will be costumers today."

Naveen looked at her friend with a wide smile. "Is Maher coming by today?" Esma could tell that she was doing little to hide her enthusiasm.

"Not that I know of," Maghrub offered. "He comes by every Thursday to help me carry the goods. Other days he comes by unannounced."

Naveen leaned towards Esma. "Are the unannounced times often?"

"Usually Fridays with his father and Mondays alone."

"How fun!" Naveen squeaked in delight.

Not quite, Esma mentally noted. Maher was hard to deal with, but fortunately he wasn't obnoxious all the time. She stood up from her stool to remove the sweets from the oven. "You'll have to wait till they are cooled down," she said to Naveen.

"Well of course. Who do you take me for? That's common knowledge!"

A sudden sound at the door made them all look up, especially Maghrub, as he had been waiting for customers the entire day. He slapped a towel over his shoulder and quickly made his way to the door. "Peace upon you, brother!" he called to the man that had entered the saloon.

Esma's breath faltered at the sight. She watched as her father led him to a table with a wide smile. She clenched her fists and bit down on her lower lip. _Do not act out of the ordinary, Esma… _She stared at the broad back of the man. With each second that passed she could feel her heartbeat become louder. Without a doubt it was _him._

Sounds were blurred together in a muted noise. She vaguely heard Naveen's voice in the back of her mind. Suddenly a hand was on her leg. Esma looked up to see Naveen eyeing her in worry. "Are you alright?" her friend asked in concern.

Esma opened her mouth, but no words would come out as her mind was still focused on Majd Addin's _killer _in their restaurant. Her eyes shot towards her father, who was having a friendly chat with the man, unaware of the knowledge she possessed_. _Oh Lord. She abruptly stood up as she took two steps towards the saloon before she stopped again, unable to make the additional distance between them. Her father needed to get away from the man. Esma leaned on the counter and watched the two men like a hawk.

"Esma!" Naveen called. "You are acting weird. What's going on?"

"You should lower your gaze, Naveen," Esma said on edge.

"What?" Naveen voiced in confusion. "What are you talking about? You're the one who's watching your father and the man like you're going to jump them. Shouldn't you be lowering your gaze?"

Why was he taking so long? He needed get away from that dangerous person! She made her way to the two men, but paused halfway, standing in hesitation, but then her father turned around, wearing a smile on his face. When he noticed his daughter, he raised his eyebrows in question as he made his way to her.

"What is the matter, Esma?"

Esma cringed at the pronunciation of her name in hearing distance of their so-called customer. She grabbed her father's wrist and pulled him back to the kitchen. "Father, I…" What was she doing? She couldn't possibly tell him about her suspicions. She'd endanger them all if she did. Finally, she lost her nerve and made up an excuse to cover for her strange actions, "I really feel like stretching my legs today. Please let me serve the man."

Naveen and Maghrub looked at each other before turning to her skeptically. The older man rubbed his beard. "Is there something going on between you two?" he asked in suspicion.

Naveen gave her friend the 'what have you done?' look.

"What?" Esma said offended, but she could feel her cheeks colour to the accusation. "I don't even know who that man is. I was honest in my words! Why would you suspect me of something like that?"

Naveen decided not to mingle into their affairs any further and retreated to check up on the sweets.

Maghrub hesitated for a moment. "I thought you were interested in another man, seeing as Maher told me you've been very distant with him."

"Are you kidding me, father?" Esma asked incredulously. What did Maher have to do with this? Of all times! There was a murderer in their restaurant and here they stood discussing about _Maher_? "I really do not feel like talking about Maher right now," she immediately stated. She glanced at the broad back of the assassin. "What has he ordered?"

Maghrub cleared his throat. "You are right. This is not the time to be discussing such matter." He walked to his counter and pulled out a piece of meat from the cooled pot. Lamb again. "He wanted amrood juice. Can you cut the fruit?"

"Yes, of course," Esma answered. She looked to Naveen who stood by the sweets, but her eyes were obviously focused somewhere else. More precise: she was ogling the assassin. An uncomfortable feeling took hold of Esma. She quickly pulled out the knife for the amrood to distract herself, but found her gaze worriedly linger on the assassin's back shortly after again. Why was he here? Was his presence a warning aimed towards her?

Suddenly she felt a sharp sting in her fingers. One look at the cutting plank and she knew she had cut herself. She mentally berated herself for not putting her mind to her work and allowing her mind to wander. The amrood was now coloured red by her blood. She pulled a face and reached for a towel.

"Oh Esma! You cut yourself!" Naveen exclaimed when she noticed the blood. She rushed to her side.

"It's alright. Please keep your voice down." Her eyes nervously flicked towards the assassin, but to her utmost surprise he had –apparently and soundlessly- left his seat and stood right in front of them. Esma cried out in shock, darted backwards and tripped over a stool. Oh Lord, he was going to kill them!

The noise and clattering of wood made Maghrub jump in panic, "What's going on?!" He saw the hooded man at their counter, following his line of sight he ended at his own daughter, who had fallen over a chair, looking frightened and had blood smeared over her hand. "Esma!" he exclaimed and rushed to help her up.

_Please do not become violent, assassin_, Esma pleaded to the Lord. She was shaking as her father pulled her up.

"Wash your hand," the assassin suddenly spoke. His voice, however calm it sounded, startled everyone. It was no request, but a flat out command. He untied a pouch from under his robe and pulled out a small bottle containing clear liquid, a fresh green leaf and bandage.

"What are these?" Maghrub inquired.

"It's extract from myrrh resin. They speed up the healing process."

"Myrrh is a plant?" Naveen asked the assassin with both worry and admiration in her eyes.

Esma watched in horror as her father and friend struck a conversation with the very same person whom had threatened her a few days back. With shaking hands she took a small bowl and scooped some clean water into it to wash the blood of her hand. She had heard of myrrh, a herb related to the balsam of Mecca. She looked at the hooded figure in front of her in disbelief. Was he honestly giving her his aid? Just as that thought entered her mind, another one soon followed and this one was much, much darker.

_It could be poison._

How easy it was for him to take care of her now and stop her from speaking ever again.

Esma pressed her hand to her chest protectively. "I thank you very much, brother, but it is just a scratch. T-There is no need for myrrh or bandage." She hated how she stuttered. Her fear was growing with each moment passing, her legs unsteady and her skin cold. She looked to her father in hesitation.

The man followed her line of sight and also looked to Maghrub, who fortunately had picked up the unwillingness of his daughter, but also made sure to express his gratitude: "We appreciate your generosity greatly, brother! May the Lord reward you for your kindness. Please, I ask you not to burden yourself with a small cut of my daughter, rather sit down and enjoy your visit."

The assassin's gaze lingered on Esma's hand until he then put his herbs back into the pouch. "Be careful," he said to Esma, the words slow and clear. Dumbfounded, Esma gave a nod without thought. She watched the assassin return to his table as her breathing remained heavy. She jumped as someone grabbed her wrist.

"Hey, it's only me," Naveen said, she looked to the drop of blood that whelmed up from the cut and lowered her voice to a whisper, "why did you decline the herbs? The man looked like he knew what he was talking about."

Esma uncomfortably flicked her gaze around. "I... dislike accepting from strangers."

"That's fine," Maghrub said. He pressed a clean cloth against Esma's hand. "Caution is an admirable trait."

Esma nodded and looked to the floor. Her head was pounding.

"Is there anything I can do to help?" Naveen offered, looking at Maghrub.

"No, no!" he yelled. "You just sit down and relax. Esma, are your sweets ready yet? Give Naveen some."

"Ha!" Naveen exclaimed. "I'm no ordinary visitor that you should treat so formally. I'll help myself, don't you worry about that, uncle Maghrub!"

Esma rubbed her temples. Why was the man here again? She looked to him, his back straight as he was still waiting for juice and a meal that had just been delayed by her little accident. Had he genuinely offered his help with the myrrh extract? She heaved a sigh. He probably had no intention to kill them today. She clenched her fists and stared to his white hood. What if he'd come to them during the night? No, he couldn't get inside. They had their doors barricaded at night. That would be a sufficient obstacle, right? ...Right? Oh Lord. She bit down on her lower lip and reminded herself that there was nothing she could do about the situation. Whatever happened, it would be what the Lord had willed.

Slightly relieved about the matter with that thought, she looked around her. Her father had cut up new amroods for the juice and was now busy with the main course which was lamb with vegetables once again, knowing it was her favourite and it probably would be the assassin's favourite as well, seeing as it was his second time ordering it. Naveen pressed the juice out of the fruit into a cup as Esma got up from her seat.

"Let me do it, Naveen," she said as she picked up a piece of amrood. The sap stung her cut, but she ignored it. "You're a guest here, you shouldn't be working."

"What does it matter?" her friend countered, but she backed up anyway.

When the cup had been filled to the brim Esma stared at it doubtfully. Why had she taken over from Naveen again? Now she had to bring the drink to the assassin. Esma breathed in deeply. She should not worry. Both her father and Naveen were here. If the assassin wanted to kill her, he wouldn't do it under their watch. Hopefully.

"Peace upon you, brother," Esma said in a low voice as she put the cup down in front of the assassin. She stared at his face or at least the parts that were visible to her. _Are you planning to kill us? _She couldn't quiet the thoughts in her head.

"You are frightened by my presence," the assassin stated. He turned his head to her.

Even if she couldn't see his eyes, the impact of his piercing gaze wasn't any less. She looked the other way in discomfort.

"We don't kill innocents," he said and leaned one arm on the surface of the table to turn towards her. "I am here simply because the chef cooks deliciously."

Esma blinked and stared at him. "Never? You," she dropped her voice to a barely audible whisper, "of the brotherhood never kill innocent people?"

"That is correct."

Esma's gaze lingered on the cup. Her heart beat rapidly in her chest. "How are you so sure you never kill innocent people? If you are ordered to assassinate, it would mean there's someone out there deciding who are innocent and who aren't."

"If this person is a threat to the community, it means he has not repented and will not either. How can such a person be innocent?"

Her stomach churned as the thought of Majd Addin's assassination crossed her mind, but she had to agree that she did not expect a figure as Majd Addin to change without drastic measurements, but did he deserve to die? "Don't you think that person should have had the chance to repent?" she carefully asked the assassin.

"You are forgetting how many innocents have died by the hands of such a person. It's naive of you to think these kind of people will repent."

Esma flushed in embarrassment and averted her eyes. "Perhaps you are right, brother," she said.

Maghrub came their way with the food.

When Esma noticed her father, she smoothed her skirt out with her hand and gave the assassin a nod. "Please enjoy your food and stay." She then left, giving her father a smile as they passed each other.

As soon as she was back in the kitchen her smile dropped and was replaced with a frown. A noble assassination. Was that possible?

"Do you think it's alright if I come by next Monday?" sounded a sudden voice.

"Huh?" Esma looked up. Oh right; Naveen. She was so lost in thought that she had forgotten about her friend's presence. "Monday? Sure, you know you are always welcome."

Naveen grabbed her wrist and pulled a serious face, "No, no, you misunderstand me. You know what I'm talking about. Mondays and Maher."

"Ooh, that's right." Was it okay for Naveen to pursue Maher in such a manner? "Actually I am doubtful whether it's decent for you to try to meet him by adapting your visit times. Wouldn't it be better to wait for my father to tell my uncle about it?"

Naveen looked disappointed.

"You want my consent in this?" Esma answered to her friend's disappointment. "You know I only consent in matters that will not cause you harm. Trying to meet Maher in this fashion feels a bit sneaky to me."

"It's not sneaky! I'll just stick around you. What's the harm in that?"

Esma pondered on this for a moment before replying: "I suppose there's indeed no harm in that. You shouldn't try anything funny, though."

"As if I'd do that," retorted Naveen, slightly offended. She then looked into the saloon and smiled. "That man there, what kind of work does he do? He looks really muscled."

"You should lower your gaze, my dear Naveen," Esma answered. If only she knew.

* * *

**Beta reader:** Simply Laura.

**Author notes:** This chapter was beta read by Simply Laura, which I am very grateful for :-) Hope you guys enjoyed reading this story so far. I want to thank those that reviewed and followed the story; it's really nice to see people like my efforts! If you have any remarks or constructive criticism, please don't be shy to post them! Till the next chapter (which is already done and follows Altaïr) :-)!


	5. Chapter 5

Five

* * *

Rain softly tapped on the pavements of Jerusalem, wetting the tiling and causing the shimmering city to reflect in its own ground. Heavy boots slapped down, making droplets splash from the cobblestones. The boots belonged to a tall man who calmly made his way through the avenue, contrary to the inhabitants who hurried to their homes to find shelter from the grim weather. Droplets dripped from his weapons and were immediately absorbed by the thick, white robe he wore. He stopped at a certain building, verifying no one was around and then climbed onto the roof, making sure to get a firm grip.

There was an opening in the roof which looked down on a small back garden. At night, the roof would be closed off with a fence, but the fence was now pushed to the side. The man slid inside, landing firmly, causing the water to splash under his feet. Inside was a one-armed scholar working behind his desk, surrounded by bookcases containing a few dusty books. Further in the room was a resting area with a small stand and a few cushions.

The man approached the one-armed scholar, "Safety and peace, Malik".

Malik groaned, not even trying to hide his irritation. "Your presence deprives me of both," he sighed, waving with his only arm as he glared at the assassin. "What do you want?"

"I have finished preparations on Talal's assassination," Altaïr said, a little harsher than he had intended.

"And you want my permission," Malik sneered back. He leaned on the desk with his only arm. "Tell me what you know and I might grant you permission, _novice_."

الله أكبر

Altaïr climbed the Holy Sepulchre, his muscles flexing and straining as he pulled himself up the massive church. The wind blew lightly in his face. Malik's attitude towards him had never been likeable, but after the incident it had worsened by tenfold. Though Malik was the only person whom he allowed this kind of behaviour towards him; it was because of his feelings of guilt. He could not rewind time and undo his deeds, only pray he wouldn't commit the same mistakes again.

It had stopped raining in the meantime. Altaïr strained his neck to overlook the ocean in the distance. It seemed so calm, yet so strong; the power of nature, which was a great contrast to humans, who were weak. Talal was another clear example of despicableness. Even though it was Al Mualim who gave him the order to assassinate the man, he had seen what corruption the man had caused. This man did not deserve to continue his games until one day he might want to repent, as the girl from the saloon had questioned.

She was naive, because she had not seen real corruption. He wondered if she would tell the local guards about him, but she probably wouldn't since it wouldn't gain her anything, except the increased chance that he'd track her down to assassinate her. A lopsided smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. Her fear for him was not exactly the effect he wanted to have on women, but it was inevitable. She had seen him too many times around the city.

He leaned forward and darted himself from the wooden beam. Metres and metres of nothingness and wind passed his frame until he landed in a thick amount of hay. He wasted no time lingering around and jumped out of the haystack. A man looked up in confusion and muttered something to himself as Altaïr brushed the dried grass of his robe and calmly walked away.

Without much thought, he made his way to Maghrub's saloon. Before he was going to kill Talal and throw the entire city in havoc, he wanted to enjoy another one of the chef's good meals as well as perhaps to take a look at the girl again; she had a nice face to see. When he entered the saloon he noticed only the chef behind the counter.

"Peace upon you, brother!" Maghrub called to him.

"Peace upon you as well," Altaïr answered. He looked around if he could find the girl, but she was nowhere in sight.

"What can I get you?" the man was at his table already.

"The usual, please."

"Lamb with vegetables?"

Altaïr gave a nod. He folded his hands before his mouth.

"Amrood juice?"

"Yes, please."

Maghrub retreated to the kitchen. "So, brother, is there any news around the city?" he called to him, disregarding the distance between them. Seeing as Altaïr was the only customer in the saloon again, he saw no reason not to talk to the man.

A moment of silence passed before Altaïr answered, "Nothing that I know of."

"Ever since the assassination on Majd Addin the governance in Jerusalem has slightly improved. Whoever took care of that man did a good job doing so."

Altaïr didn't answer him. The girl's father obviously did not take Addin's death as much to heart as she did.

"There's too much corruption around the city. It's saddening." Maghrub put the cup of juice before him.

"Thank you."

"You're welcome. But what can we do?" he continued undisturbed as he stalked back to the kitchen. "If we open our mouths they'll slit our throats in our sleep." He threw down a piece of lamb and started tenderizing it with the back of his butcher knife. "This world we live in," he muttered and shook his head, "Some greedy people just have to ruin it for the rest of us."

Altaïr silently listened the older man's rambling. The smell of fried onions and meat reached his nose, causing his stomach to growl in response. He took a drink from the juice to silence himself. Fortunately it did not take long before the man returned with the delicious looking dish.

"Praise the Lord, please enjoy your meal, brother," Maghrub said politely after he put down the plate.

Altaïr nodded in gratitude and tore a piece of the bread off to scoop up the meat with it.

He finished even the last drop of the plate and burped inwardly. The large servings the chef made for him were great. He rose from his seat feeling saturated and counted the coins. "Thank you for your efforts, brother," he said as he handed the other man his pay.

Maghrub took the coins. "Don't thank me! Thank the Lord for sustaining us with all his provisions."

Altaïr nodded almost unnoticeably and left the saloon as he heard Maghrub call 'welcome anytime' after him.

الله أكبر

"No, wait!" Talal cried in panic. The man stumbled on his feet, the weight of the bow on his back pushing him forward and making him smack into the ground. His eyes widened as he watched the assassin leap into the air as a hidden blade appeared from under his brace. He tried to get up and crawl out of the way, but it all happened too quickly. The next moment he felt boots kicking against his shoulders, pinning him to the ground like a hawk did to its prey.

"Your corruption ends here, Talal," Altaïr said and without hesitation he thrust the sharp blade in the other's carotid.

_You've nowhere to run now. Share your secrets with me._

_My part is played. The Brotherhood is not so weak that my death will stop its work._

_What brotherhood?_

_Al Mualim is not the only one with design upon the Holy Land. And that's all you'll have from me._

_Then we are finished. Beg forgiveness from your God._

_He's long abandoned us. Long abandoned the men and women I took into my arms._

_What do you mean?_

_Beggars, whores, addicts, lepers. Do they strike you as proper slaves? Unfit for even the most menial tasks? No. I took them not to sell, but to save! And yet you'd kill us all, for no other reason than it was asked of you._

_No, you profit from the war, from lives lost and broken._

_Yes, you would think that, ignorant as you are. Wall off your mind, eh? They say it's what your kind do best. Do you see the irony in all this? No, not yet it seems. But you will._

Altaïr ran, pushing aside the people who were in his way. The bells rang loudly and urgently through all of Jerusalem. A templar tried to block his path and swung his sword out towards him, but the strike was avoided by the assassin, leaving him open to a counter strike.

Before the man could do anything he saw the dagger slide towards his neck, connecting to his skin and ripping open his flesh and veins. He wanted to scream, but was only able to produce a gargling sound. Warm liquid rushed out of the wound and slithered over his uniform. He fell to his knees, his sword darting out of his hands and grinding over the stone pavement. With the greatest effort he turned his eyes for the last time and saw a white blur disappear behind a wall.

الله أكبر

The water quietly washed against Esma's feet, wetting the bottom of her skirt. She was squatted on the bank of the lake, washing up the last piece of clothing that belonged to Maher. She rolled her eyes in annoyance as she twisted the brown robe of her cousin, making sure most of the water was squeezed out.

When she had left the house, the weather seemed fine, but as she arrived at the lake it started pouring. She did not like doing things in vain, seeing as she had already walked the distance to the lake, and decided to wash the clothes even though it rained. She knew that people must thought she was crazy working outside in that kind of weather, but it didn't bother her.

It had stopped raining in the meantime, but to Esma it didn't matter anymore as she was drenched through and through already. Her dress stuck to her body uncomfortably and felt cold. The only way to get any wetter was to jump into the lake, but she wasn't planning on doing that any time soon. She picked up the basket with the clean clothing and made her way back to the city.

As she approached the city gates, she could hear the faint sound of the alarm bells, immediately causing her to hug the basket a bit tighter.

_What was going on? Could it be another assassination?_

Her heartbeat accelerated as she thought of Majd Addin's killer.

_Had he struck again? No, that would be too much of a coincidence. It made no sense to let this man execute all assassinations in Jerusalem. Wouldn't people start to recognize him? Then again, Jerusalem was densely populated._

This far out of the centre, most people did not worry about danger when the alarm bells rang, but they made sure to stay close to their houses in the event of anything occurring. The people were talking loudly and Esma decided to inquire one of them about the reason for the bells as she spotted an older woman in the crowd, "Peace upon you, sister. Do you know what happened?"

"Peace upon you as well," the woman answered. She was looking into the distance, trying to catch anything unusual on the streets. "I heard someone was assassinated and apparently he or she was of enough importance to set off the city bells."

Esma swallowed thickly. Her body quivered but whether this was because of her wet clothes or the thought of Majd Addin's killer, she did not know. Her anxiety urged her to go home quickly to make sure her father was alright. "Do they know where the assassination took place?"

The woman shook her head, "I have no idea. I just hope it's not too close to our district, but seeing as nothing seems out of place here, I suspect it happened somewhere far."

Esma nodded, "Thank you, sister. May the Lord's mercy be upon you." She did not wait for the woman to reply and hurried her way back to the saloon. The further she got into the centre the more guards appeared searching around the area. The people here stood worriedly at their doors and on the streets. There was no unusual activity, but the murderer was most likely still out there somewhere, running around and being a potential threat to the people.

Someone slipped over the wet cobblestones and smacked to the ground. The man who coincidentally passed him was immediately frowned upon with great suspicion. Esma shuffled passed the mass and quickly walked on.

"I know he's here somewhere!" cried one of the guards. Esma nervously looked around her, fearing the presence of the killer. What if he was really here? Would she be in danger?

"You, woman!" A guard called out to her. Esma paused and looked over her shoulder. "Have you seen a man in white?"

In white? Could it be him? She quickly shook her head and turned around again, but the guard was persistent.

"Halt!" he yelled. "Your behaviour is most suspicious! You must be a spy for them!"

Esma slightly turned around, still hugging the basket with washed clothes. "May the Lord's mercy be upon you, brother," she said with a shaking voice and nervously looked around her, the people watched her with worry, "but by no means do I work together with a killer. I was just washing clothes at the bank before I came back into the city."

The guard turned to his colleagues and muttered something she could not catch. For a moment she thought a quick smirk drew over his face. She blinked, not quite believing what was going on. When all the guards turned their attention on her, Esma's breath hitched and her guts told her to get out of here, but she could only stand there paralyzed.

When they approached her, she finally managed to shift back, one step at a time.

"You have nowhere to run, spy," the guard said and he unsheathed his sword. "Traitors won't meet pretty ends!"

Esma did not wait for him to speak any more and turned to run, but it took only a few footsteps before a hand clamped around her shoulder and roughly yanked her back. The basket fell out of her hands and clean clothes spread over the wet avenue.

"Stop it! I'm not a traitor!" Esma yelled in frustration and fear. She slapped against the man's hand on her shoulder, trying to back away from the grip.

This only angered the guard and he harshly pinned her face between his fingers. "Stop struggling!" he snarled, baring his teeth to her. Then he leaned towards her ear and whispered: "I'll kill you if you struggle again".

Esma immediately stopped her resistance.

"Now there's a wise girl," the man snickered. He traced a finger along her jaw line.

She closed her eyes, the shame and humiliation eating away at her.

الله أكبر

The conversation between a woman and the guards made Altaïr turn back, he soundlessly walked over the roof to take a quick look what was going on and he did a double take as he realized it was the chef's daughter who was being harassed by the city guards. Without wasting a second, he threw a dagger in the leader's neck, blood spurted out of the fatal wound and splattered across the young woman's face and dress. She cried out in horror and watched her assailant's body slump to the ground.

"Captain!" one of the guards cried out, he rudely pushed the woman aside who fell to the ground between her own clothing, and kneeled next to the fallen man.

The other guards immediately unsheathed their swords. "He's here!" they cried. "Show yourself, assassin!"

Altaïr threw another dagger, taking yet another man by surprise before he jumped off the building and drew his sword.

Work quickly, but effectively.

He thrust his sword through one of the men, the bloody blade coming out of him on the other side. He pulled out just in time to ward off an attack from behind and with his free hand he pulled out his dagger and cut the attacker's throat with a fluent movement.

The last man stood shaking on his legs. He nervously looked around him before he sheathed his sword and started to run, crying: "I yield! I yield!" But he didn't go far as he felt a sudden force smack against his back and knock him down to the ground. He gargled as a small blade buried itself in his throat.

Altaïr stood up and walked towards the young woman who still lay on the clothes. Her shoulders jerked in a motion he recognized as crying. He squatted down next to her and grabbed the basket, collecting the stained clothing, noticing that blood of the leader had seeped into some of the robes. He held the pieces of clothing up and threw the ones with heavy blood stains away.

A few men and women from the street joined Altaïr and aided him in collecting the clothes. "Blessings of the Lord upon you," an old woman said to Altaïr. "Such bravery is rare these days."

Another woman gently pulled Esma up and wiped the blood and tears from her face with the back of her sleeve. "It is because you are so fair that they pick on you, sister," the woman said sadly. "You should not leave the house alone for your own safety."

"It is done now, you should go home quickly," Altaïr said. He looked at the group that had gathered around them. "Escort this woman to Maghrub's Saloon." Just as he finished speaking another group of guards appeared, yelling and throwing foul words towards him.

"Go quickly," the old woman spoke. She watched in satisfaction as a group of able-bodied men held the guards to give the hooded man time to get away. Altaïr gave a nod to her before turning around and disappearing out of their sights.

* * *

**Beta reader: **Simply Laura.

**Author notes:**Haha, two weeks ago I was all like 'I have chapter 5 ready!', so you guys were probably expecting a quick update :P Sorry for the wait. My dear beta-reader was on a well-deserved vacation ;) This chapter is again betaed by Simply Laura. Well, I do have chapter 6 ready now, but it still needs to be revised and betaed, so can't say when the next update is. Hopefully within a week.

Thanks to you all for faving, following and of course reviewing this story. Just like everyone else... I really enjoy reading reviews! So I invite you to leave a word if you liked it, have any remarks, constructive criticism etc. Take care!

PS. Oh yes, I really like writing violent scenes...


	6. Chapter 6

Six

* * *

In a numbed state she watched the man in white run and disappear behind a building. Someone tugged at her sleeve, urging her to move. "Quickly, before the guards see you!" An old lady pulled her inside a house.

Esma was too shocked to comprehend what was going on. All she could think of was the man's neck, which spurted open, the blood that had splattered in her face. The warm and sticky fluid had burned her eyes until they were washed out by her tears. She sobbed and wiped her tears away, but new drops kept flowing out of her eyes.

"There, there, it's over now," the old woman said as she gently pulled her in to an embrace. "I will set up a bath for you so you can cleanse yourself from the filth. After that, my son can escort you to your house." She left Esma in the living room and headed for the washing room.

Esma blankly stared at the wall. She did not know how much time had passed when the lady returned, but she let herself be guided to the washing room by her hand. When she saw the clear water, she shook her head slightly, pulling herself back to reality. "Thank you very much, may the Lord reward you for your kindness," she said with a hoarse voice, "I can handle myself from here."

"Don't worry about anything, just take your time," the lady told her and squeezed her hand reassuringly before she left the room, closing the door firmly behind her.

Esma shed her stained clothes off and slipped into the tub. With a cloth she excessively rubbed her face till her skin started to burn. A red stain was left on the fabric; the guard's blood. She gagged. The stench of blood had never been so disturbing. Usually they were from sheep at Achmed's, but this was something completely different; human blood. She could still feel his hands harshly pinning her face and then the next moment he would die like an animal, his lifeless body slumping to the ground.

His dying eyes had stared at her in surprise and anger. Had he lived a good life? Had he given the correct answer to the angels that had come to collect him? By the Lord... this all felt too surreal, as if she was living in a dream.

She leaned back and slapped the wet cloth on her face. He was there again, appearing out of nowhere and leaving a trail of dead behind him, _but saving her in the process_. If she weren't there at the time, he probably wouldn't have come to kill the guards. The mere thought of that act made her squeeze her eyes shut. The Lord had willed it to go like this. Had the assassin confronted the guards especially for her? If the city bells were because of him that would mean he was on a get-away and it would have made no sense to voluntarily throw himself back into the enemy den.

"Praise the Lord, praise the Lord, praise the Lord," she muttered to herself.

Her father was right. Guards, assassins, there was corruption everywhere. She didn't want to tell him what had happened for it would surely cause him much pain. On top of that the assassin had requested her to keep silent about him. If she was going to tell the whole story she would have to mention him as well. The least she could do to thank him for saving her -albeit it was in a very cruel way- was to keep silent over him.

She sighed heavily, her eyes trickled and her nose felt stuffy from the emotions she felt earlier in the day. How much she longed for a comforting touch now.

اللهأكبر

Maher politely smiled to Naveen as he passed her the bowl with salad. He peeked at Esma with a slight frown, but Esma looked away. This dinner was the one Naveen had looked forward to so greatly. Present were Naveen and her parents, her father, Maher, her uncle and his wife. Just like her, Maher also grew up without a mother, but her uncle had remarried, leaving Maher with a stepmother.

She never knew why, but there was always some kind of tension between her uncle Hasan and her father that she could not put her finger on. During the years she had learned to ignore it, just like they did. Despite their feud, Maher never stopped coming over to help them out with tasks and preparations in the saloon. Praise the Lord.

The older folks chatted loudly, busying themselves with getting acquainted to each other, but Esma made sure to avoid gazes to prevent having to engage in conversation. She felt too anxious to hold up a decent conversation. Her father cast a worried look in her direction, but she forced a smile on her face to ensure him that everything was fine. He didn't seem convinced by the sincerity of the smile, but to Esma's relief he left it at that and turned his attention back to Naveen's parents.

Naveen shrieked in laughter and looked to Maher with rose tinted cheeks. Esma slightly smiled at the sight. Perhaps she was wrong and they would make a nice couple. Just as she thought that, Maher glanced at her and gave her a wink. Esma rolled her eyes. Perhaps she was giving him too much credit. She got up from her seat, the wooden stool scraping over the floor.

"Esma?" Maghrub said with raised eyebrows.

"I'm going to catch some fresh air in the back garden. Please enjoy your food," she smiled politely and excused herself.

"Dear, have you had enough already?" It was Naveen's mother.

"Yes, please enjoy your food, aunt Hakima."

When she opened the back door the setting sun welcomed her to come outside. The air was a bit stuffy, but she'd prefer it anytime over being caught between her uncle and father's obvious tension. She carefully sat down on the stone bench. Her gaze instinctively went to the spot on the wall where the assassin had made his appearance a few weeks back. Her body tensed at the memory of the incident and she clenched her fists in indignation. Were it not for him at the time the guards would probably have killed her off or taken her back to the barracks and done worse things to her. At the mere thought of what they could have done to her, tears welled up in her eyes. She heaved a deep sigh and sucked in the air to calm herself down before drawing unwanted attention to herself.

"Tears travel to the Lord in prayer," a sudden voice sounded with the rustling of clothes that indicated someone was behind her, "or so they say."

Esma jerked around and looked right into the face of Majd Addin's killer. She gasped in shock and shot up from her seat to get away from him. His skill in stealth made her realize in what kind of position she was. Someone with the blood of countless men on his hands did not belong in this peaceful garden she called home, so what was he doing here?

Yet she could not and should not forget this very same man had saved her from the clutches of the corrupted guards.

"I didn't tell anyone," Esma said out of breath, not daring to move. The way he just stood there with his face obscured and once again, with an emotionless form, she could not tell whether he was a friend of foe and this made her terribly anxious. "Are you... are you going to kill me this time?"

The assassin snorted. "What would have been the point in saving you if I'd do that?"

"Thank the Lord..." Esma muttered in relief. She hesitantly looked up to the assassin, awkwardly meeting his eyes for the first time. His stare was hard and intimidating, but she didn't think they reflected any ill intentions. Perhaps it was just the shape of his eyebrows that accentuated his scowl. She clenched the fabric of her skirt between her fingers. "They were looking for you, weren't they?" she said with a shaky voice.

The man stepped forward, closing the distance between them, but Esma tensed at his close presence and shifted back.

"Why do you ask if you already know?" he asked, his gaze lingering on her form so intensely that she felt herself blush under his eyes.

"I-I don't. I am merely guessing." This was not entirely true. As the rumour went that Talal the slave trader had been taken care of by an assassin, added their last encounter, she immediately related the man to the assassination. Seeing as his previous political action was to rid of the corrupted Majd Addin, this would make sense to her.

"You should not interfere with our business," he said, his voice softer this time.

"I am not trying to interfere, I wish nothing but to be left out of the violence." _But your presence awakens my curiosity. _She fiddled her fingers while her eyes lingered on the wall behind the assassin. Why were his methods so cruel if his intentions were righteous? Even though he had saved her, he had slaughtered the town guards like they were nothing more than cattle. She let out a small sigh, "Thank you for saving me, brother". Even though she condemned the method he used, she was still thankful for his protection.

The man didn't answer her and took the liberty to sit down on the stone bench, surprising Esma with his boldness. Making himself comfortable in the saloon she would understand, but here? She did not dare to shoo the man away, afraid for his unpredictability. Though deep down she was interested in this man's state of mind. What drove him to such extreme practices? She sat down herself as standing before him while he was seated made her feel uncomfortable, but she made sure to keep enough distance.

"Brother," Esma said and the assassin turned her way, with his gaze on her she hesitated to speak, but she forced herself to finish her sentence, "don't you ever feel guilt or remorse?"

The man turned away again and stared into the garden. They bathed in silence for a painful amount of time, making Esma regret she had asked the question. Finally he said, "It depends". There was more silence. Just as Esma was about to respond, he cut her off by adding, "Sometimes".

_He is only human_, it dawned on her. Of course he could feel remorse, what was she thinking? His honesty was what had surprised her the most.

"I... I cannot erase the cruel images from my mind," Esma hesitantly said and carefully looked up at the assassin. When he appeared to be listening, she continued, "They haunt me in my sleep."

Tears trickled behind her lids and she wondered why she was even telling the man this, but subconsciously she knew the answer to that. Keeping such a happening a secret was consuming her and she felt the need to confide in someone, anyone.

"I am sorry to hear that."

She looked up in surprise, his empathy catching her off guard. "Really?" she asked slightly in disbelief.

"Yes," his voice was stern, "you know the guards are disbelievers, do you not?"

"I have heard them more than once call upon the Lord. How are they disbelievers?"

"They have ill faiths, their hearts are corrupted."

"Assuming they are kaafir is not right, only the Lord knows the answer to that," Esma carefully said, afraid to irritate the assassin by disagreeing with him.

"Would you have preferred me not interfering and let the guards have their way with you then?"

Esma's eyes widened in fright and she immediately shook her head. "No, of course not! I am truly grateful that you stepped in, brother, but I just cannot find a way to deal with the burden that I was the reason these men died."

"These men had no business with you," the assassin said. "If I would not have finished them off they would have tried taking my life and yours. Your burden might be lightened if you look at the situation from a different perspective."

"But the bloodshed—"

The man stood up. "Your blood would have flown instead of theirs. Think about that, Esma."

She froze at the sound of her name from his lips. Of course he would know her name! He was a regular at the saloon after all, but the sound of her name from his mouth struck her as odd. After everything that had happened, his restaurant visits would not be the first thing she would associate him with. She swallowed dryly before answering, "I just wish they would stop trying to overtake the Holy Land..."

"They won't. They are not satisfied until they've conquered all and rid of all that they deem outsiders. That is how reality is."

"You think you are bettering the world by murder?"

"For a greater good. You know that we don't harm innocents and only take out those who shamelessly benefit from the suffering of the victims the war has caused."

"If that's what you want why don't you side with Salah'al-Din! He fights the crusaders and..." her voice trailed when she thought of Majd Addin who had ruled in his place.

"...Leaves corrupted leaders to fill his role in his absence?" the assassin finished her sentence.

To this Esma had no answer. She believed Salah'al-Din was doing the right thing; the city needed to be defended against outsiders and that was exactly what their leader was doing. But why did he allow Majd Addin to get to power? Did he not know of the man's actions? Did Majd Addin take the position in secret? Then there were the assassins, one of them standing right before her. Their beliefs were unknown to her, but this man protected the innocents and rid of the corrupted, which meant...

_He was good._

Her eyes widened at the realization and she slowly looked up at the assassin. Her heart started to beat faster in her chest. This man was good. "Are you... a believer?" Her voice was a hoarse whisper.

Before the man could answer, the back door creaked, making the assassin spin around in response, briefly touching her shoulder in the process before he jumped against the wall. In a daze, Esma watched him leap onto the roof - all this without a sound. She quickly shook her head and looked to the door that had opened in the meantime.

Maghrub blinked at her. "What's on the roof?" he enquired, slightly suspicious but mostly concerned. He walked into the garden to get a better view of the roof.

"Oh, it was just an eagle passing by," she quickly said, but immediately felt bad for lying to her father. How could she possible explain the assassin's presence in their garden without telling him about the assault? "It's... a rare sight to see them fly so low. Usually I see them circle around the great mosques or cathedrals," she continued to make her lie appear more convincing. She carefully took in her father's expressions, trying to gauge whether he bought the lie.

"An eagle?" he repeated with a frown. "As long as they keep out of the saloon," he grumbled. Then he turned his attention to Esma. "Is everything alright?"

"Yes, of course," Esma said and briefly looked away. When she realized she could not look her father in the eyes, she figured he would already know she was lying.

Maghrub stayed quiet for a while, then he walked up to his daughter and squatted down before her. He reached out and pulled Esma towards him, their foreheads touching. "I know I could never replace your mother," he spoke, the pain in his voice making Esma want to cry, "But don't ever let your secrets bring you down. If you can't bring it up to tell me, know that the Lord is ever watching us and all-knowing."

"I know, father," she answered and closed her eyes. A tear trickled down her cheek.

The spot on her shoulder where _he _had touched her so briefly still felt warm, a burning sensation which she could not explain.

* * *

******Beta reader**: Simply Laura

**Author notes**: Hi guys! Apologies for the late update (it's been exactly one month, ugh). Due to circumstances stuff took a bit longer. Fear not, though, because I have chapter 7 betaed and ready on my PC. Guarantee it's not going to take a month for the next update. I've also been editing the last bits and pieces of chapter 8 and it's over 5000 words, phew. Long chapters are nice, no? I hope you enjoyed this chapter nonetheless. Reviews, critics and comments are welcome! Thank you for sticking along till chapter 6 already :) Have a good day!

PS: I completely forgot about the new cover *grins*. It's a picture I drew, though Esma turned out like a little girl, which was not really my intention. Oh well.


	7. Chapter 7

Seven

* * *

_What goal do plan to achieve through murder? This is not the straight path! It is arrogance that drives the brotherhood—_

Altaïr pushed his hood back and rubbed his hands over his face.

Achieving peace through murder. It was indeed rather ironic, but they didn't know Al Mualim the calculated leader of their creed. No. It was not arrogance that drove the creed; it was determination to recreate a better world. The strive to a peaceful society that the assassins had to sneak in the shadows to get to this goal was not cowardly, it was a strategic necessity.

He raised his left hand and examined the stump of his missing ring finger.

_A necessity to reach their goal._

Altaïr sighed and got up from the wooden crutch. He was in the main hall of the assassins' fortress in Masyaf. Around him were a few bookcases, hiding him from the other brothers' sights. He walked up to the large staircases which lead to the garden the concubines usually resided. Another story up was their Mentor's bureau. He felt a few eyes pry on his form, making him pull the hood over his head again as he made his way to the garden.

With his arms crossed over his chest, he leaned against the door opening to watch the tranquil sight of the setting sun. After a while, his eyes shifted to the concubines in the garden. The women were peacefully conversing with each other and ignored his presence. One of the girls caught his eye and smiled to him, beckoning him to come with a small hand gesture. Almost unnoticeably Altaïr shook his head and focused his gaze on the sunset again, wondering if the women were this willing when they were first brought in.

His mind strayed off to the girl of the saloon. He disliked being distracted by feeble matters, but there was something about her that fascinated him. No doubt her striking features played a part in that. He liked the sound of her voice, how she used it to convey brave thoughts from her heart that made him think over matters. Then there were her bright, expressive eyes which would look to him in fear and worry.

He wondered how these eyes would look like if she smiled.

Al Mualim had taught them that any kind of love or intimacy would make them weak. It was a good thing that Malik was the bureau leader of Jerusalem, because it made him reluctant to spend his free time there.

His time with Adha had taught him a valuable lesson: stay away from those you love. His heart painfully pulled together at the memories. Clenching his fists he made his way back outside.

Halfway down the hill the captain of the training grounds ran up to him, "Altaïr! It seems my students do not fully understand what it is to wield a blade. Perhaps you could show them what you know."

"Which students are they?"

Altaïr joined the other man down to the sparring area. He scanned the small pack of students and to his surprise, most of them looked up in awe when they noticed him.

"They are mostly novices. It would be good for them to learn some real techniques that could save their lives and favour their missions."

The fact that Altaïr himself was only a few ranks above a novice was ignored by most on the training ground. He was still far superior in combat to any of them as his skills had not disappeared along with his title.

Altaïr stepped inside the training ring, the rough gravel grinding under the soles of his boots as he drew his sword, "What are you practicing?" he asked the young man before him as he sized him up.

"Oh, eh," the young assassin said, nervous by the presence of the former master assassin, he looked to his mentor for help.

"Please demonstrate the guard break," the captain said with a loud voice.

"Unsheathe your sword," Altaïr commanded.

The younger assassin quickly did as he was told. As soon as he was in fighting position, Altaïr stepped forward and lashed out with his sword. His opponent gasped and tried to block the attack, but he was too slow. The tip of Altaïr's sword lightly poked against the left side of boy's chest.

"Always be on your guard," Altaïr said as he withdrew the weapon, "Now block so I can demonstrate the break."

The other nodded eagerly and quickly held his weapon in front of him, honoured as he was that he was being personally taught by _the_Altaïr.

"Altaïr," a voice called out, making the former master assassin raise his hand up to the student and turn around, "Al Mualim wishes to speak to you."

اللهأكبر

The bustling market and the hot sun made Esma's head spin. Salesmen shouting, buyers bargaining, preachers praying, children yelling, Naveen yapping next to her, everyone seemed high on energy today. She looked around her nervously, fearing that the guards might be watching her again. Though in the middle of the marketplace the chance of being harassed was definitely less likely.

Naveen hooked her arm around Esma's elbow and dragged her friend along, "You see that stand there?" she pointed with her free hand. "Beautiful patterns for dresses!"

Esma peered against the bright sun and had to admit Naveen had a keen eye.

"Let's go have a look!"

"Yes, sure," Esma responded, trying to put her mind to the conversation.

Naveen inspected and touched the different fabrics, valuing each cloth's potential to turn into a new favourite dress. The man behind the stand watched the two women with a smile. He slightly leaned forward and said, "For you lovely ladies, I will give you a special price!"

"Oh! How considerate of you, brother," Naveen clapped her hands in delight, "Perhaps if we'll buy more you will give us an even more special price?"

"It depends," the man nodded, "which ones have caught your eyes?"

Just as the man had said that, Esma noticed a familiar form in the corner of her eye. Her heart skipped a beat and she had to refrain herself from jerking her head up. She forced herself to subtly raise her chin and casually look to the white blur in the crowd, but her rapid breathing gave her excitement away.

Was it him? It could be a lone scholar... no, that apparent walk was too identifiable, it was definitely him. Her stomach fluttered till the point Esma nearly felt nauseas. How could she feel this lightheaded about anyone whom she didn't even know the name?

"—but I'd prefer one with a golden line, what do you think, Esma?" Naveen asked indecisively.

When the girl received no answer, she lowered the cloth in her hands and she looked up to her friend. Her gaze automatically followed the direction her friend was looking to, but she couldn't make out what could be more interesting than these beautiful fabrics before them.

"Esma?" Naveen gently nudged her friend with her elbow.

It had been nearly three weeks since she last saw him. Ever since that time he had constantly invaded her thoughts, leaving her with a desire to learn more about the mysterious brotherhood and their motives, to learn more about him. She thought she would never see the man again, but here he was roaming the streets of Jerusalem once more.

"I'll be right back," Esma said and briefly touched Naveen's shoulder without looking at her. She hurriedly made her way to the crowd where she had last seen the noble assassin, ignoring Naveen's protests which quickly faded as their distance grew.

When she couldn't spot the man in the crowd anymore, she worriedly put a hand to her lips. Where did he go? Did he disappear into one of the alleyways? There was no way she should go into those deserted, narrow streets to look for an assassin. Yet her heart pleaded her to go just have a quick peek for the man might be waiting there for her.

She stood on the middle of the street in hesitation when suddenly someone brushed past her, making her step aside in annoyance. The street was wide enough for the man to take some distance. _What a pawpaw_, she thought in indignation. Suddenly a flash of white ran past her and punched the other man straight in his face. Esma gasped at the realization it was the assassin as well at the fact that he had outright punched a man. Then she noticed the man was in fact only a boy in his teens.

By the Lord, what was going on?

"Get out of here, before I change my mind," the assassin said to the boy, who immediately nodded while holding onto his nose with a pained expression before he spun around to make his get away.

Esma gaped at the scene. What happened to the 'noble' assassin? How had he gone from ridding corruption to punching helpless boys? And how did he get behind her?

The assassin turned around and approached her.

Esma had expected herself to feel more at ease this time because of her newfound conclusions about his intentions, but she was taken by surprise by his explosive, violent behaviour towards a fellow citizen, making her stand in doubt again. She cautiously took a step back.

"Peace upon you, Esma," he said casually, "You should hide your pouch from sight or else you'll become an easy target."

Esma's eyes widened and she immediately patted around her waist where she usually had her coin pouch attached. _It was gone, _she realized in exasperation. Her eyes shot up to the assassin. "Did you...?"

A lopsided smile drew across his face and he presented the familiar pouch in the palm of his hand.

Esma looked to man in disbelief. He had aided her once again and all she was doing was writing off bad intentions to the man. She cast her eyes down in guilt. _Do not prejudice, _she reprimanded herself sternly.

She couldn't believe she had just been pick pocketed; one moment the pouch was a natural companion, the next moment it had disappeared without her even noticing and now it was in the assassin's strong hand, urging her to reach out and take it from him. She took a deep breath and took the coin purse from his hand, her fingers touching his in the process. Her cheeks felt hot and she knew exactly what that meant.

This was just too embarrassing.

"Thank you, brother," she muttered and forced herself to look at the man, but when she realized she hadn't properly greeted him yet, she quickly added, "Peace upon you as well."

They bathed in silence until the assassin broke the stillness, "How have you been?"

Esma turned an even deeper shade of red, wondering if the assassin was showing interest in her by asking such a question. "Alhamdulillah, I've been well, thank you for asking. What about you? Are you... unscathed?"

"Yes. I am fine," his answer was curt, but his body language showed he wasn't trying to be distant. He looked down to ground, obviously in thought. When he looked back at her, he said, "I have some matters I need to attend to".

"Oh," Esma uttered, but immediately regretted her thoughtless reaction as she was being too obvious in her disappointment. "Yes, I understand that you are busy, brother...?" She looked to the man hoping he would give her a name, but the man just stared at her, unnerving her with his hard gaze. She cleared her throat and averted her eyes, "Might I ask for your name?"

"I don't think it would be wise to know my name."

Her stomach dropped at hearing the rejection. She peered at the man, feeling upset and disappointed. He knew her name, so why wouldn't he tell her his? She sighed over her own irrationality. Surely the assassin had his own reasons to stay anonymous.

"I see," she said and nodded in understanding, although she wasn't content at all with his answer. She hesitated for a moment before adding, "I hope you understand that I just wish to know the name of my saviour".

The man looked around him, not responding to her words. "Let's move along," he said, "staying still in one spot might attract attention."

Esma tensed and cautiously looked to the man. The realization struck her that she trusted the assassin too much. For all she knew he might drag her into an alleyway and have his way with her, but the fact that he had saved her and his noble deeds altogether made it more likely that he had no ill intentions, but still, she shouldn't push her luck.

"My friend is here at the marketplace. I shouldn't wander too far," Esma said, hoping the excuse would make the assassin stay where they were.

"We won't go far," he answered, "Where is your friend?"

Esma pointed to the carpet maker's stand. To her relief she noted that Naveen was still mesmerized by the many different patterns.

The assassin started to walk, away from Naveen and the stand. Esma stood in hesitation for a moment, but then quickly turned to follow him. She wanted to slap herself across her face for being so naïve to follow an _assassin. _If her father or Maher for that matter knew what she was doing right now, added the incident of the guards, she'd definitely be life sentenced to the saloon.

"Is the other man your fiancé?" the assassin suddenly asked, catching Esma off guard with his forward question.

Esma blinked in surprise and tried to find the assassin's face under his hood. "You do not want to tell me your name, yet you feel no aversion asking me such a question?" Was he referring to Maher? He had seen them together at the execution plaza after all.

The assassin was bemused for a moment as a small smile drew across his face. "Knowing my name will only bring you more jeopardy, therefore I feel it's better to keep it unknown," he said calmly.

Esma opened her mouth, but no words would come out. She stared at him, shocked by his sincere answer. "Oh," she sheepishly said and a light blush drew over her face. She reminded herself that this man had saved her from the clutches of the corrupted guards; he was _not _a bad man.

"If you must insist," he slowly spoke, "you can call me Altaïr."

"The hawk?" she said in surprise as she had not expected him to give her an answer, but the gesture warmed her inside and she couldn't help but smile slightly. "Is this your real name?"

"Yes. Al-tair covers multiple flying birds. I would prefer the eagle as you can find them around the cathedrals here in Jerusalem as well."

Esma automatically looked up to the sky to see if she would spot any eagles, but none showed itself. "Altaïr," she slowly said, testing the sound of the name in her own voice. Suddenly she remembered she had actually used the eagle to substitute the assassin's visit when her father had almost walked in on them. She couldn't help but laugh at the thought.

"Is it amusing?" Altaïr asked, looking at her expectantly.

Esma waved her hands in an apologetic manner, "No, no, I wasn't laughing at your name. I just... the eagle really seems to suit you."

A small smile tugged at the assassin's lips, "So is the other man your fiancé?" he asked, turning the course of the conversation again.

This time Esma blushed at the question. She shook her head, "No, he is merely my guardian." She wondered how this came across to the assassin. Was it credible to spend so much time with a man without having ulterior motives?

Altaïr didn't remark on her answer. "I'll walk you back to your friend," he said, "Perhaps I'll drop by your father's saloon tonight."

Esma noticed her excitement at his last sentence and she feared that her eyes lit up a bit too much in reaction. She cleared her throat and tried to hide her enthusiasm. "Alright," she nodded.

For some unknown reason she enjoyed spending time with this man. Just the thought of wanting to get in touch with a killer was horrendous, so how come her heart disagreed with her rationality? She didn't understand her own emotions and she prayed to the Lord that He would guide her.

"Altaïr," Esma said and she looked at his face, trying to make eye contact, "will you be in the restaurant or the garden?" When she realized what she had actually said, she blushed. She did not mean to provoke a secret meeting in the back garden, but rather to clear up where she should expect him. She hoped the assassin wouldn't misunderstand her.

"You want to meet in the back garden?"

He sounded surprised, rightfully so, Esma figured. "No! I meant, I wasn't sure where to expect you, so I thought I should ask. It just came out more boldly than I intended. My apologies."

"Don't apologize," he said and his gaze went to the marketplace, "Let's go."

Esma couldn't help but feel a little disappointment that he was already leaving, but she comforted herself with the thought that this man had the responsibility to make sure she was safe and would probably look her up later on the day. Or was it just the food that made him come back to the saloon? She bit her lip and shook off the thoughts. It was bad to over think the situation.

If the Lord willed it she would see him appear tonight.

* * *

**Beta reader: **Simply Laura.

**Replies: **

Guest :.: Thanks a lot for your comment!

Violyss :.: Unusual Altaïr? Haha. I just write him as I feel he would respond, kind of. After reading his Codex I found him not at all so cruel or blunt as he appears. Perhaps that's also because he became wiser. Anyway, thanks for your review! Really, really appreciated!


	8. Chapter 8

Definitions:

Maghrib = prayer at dusk

Deen = "a submission, following and worship by man for the creator, the ruler, the subjugator in a comprehensive system of life with all its belief, intellectual, moral and practical aspects." Source: Imam Mohamed Baianonie.

Abaya = modest dress for muslim women

* * *

Eight

* * *

Esma watched him leave, witnessing how he miraculously disappeared among the crowd. She could hear her own heart rapidly beating in her chest. Usually, she did not feel this way around men and deep down she knew very well what this meant. She just hated the fact that this particular man had to be a cold-hearted killer.

Distracted, she made her way back to the cloth stand. Naveen had already spotted her before she even arrived. The other girl watched her move through the crowd with a satisfied smile. As Esma joined her friend, she flicked a brief smile at her.

"Sorry for making you wait. Did you find anything you like?"

"Welcome back! Sure I did," Naveen answered, and an unexpected, smug smile adorned her face. "I take it you found something you like as well while you were away?" She nudged Esma in her side knowingly.

Esma looked to her with a light frown. Suddenly it dawned on her that her friend might have seen her together with the Assassin. Her eyes widened for a moment, but she quickly forced a blank expression upon her face.

"What are you talking about?"

"Oh, you know what I'm talking about! That man who just walked you back." Naveen's smile only seemed to widen.

"He's just a customer I needed to pass a message to." Esma averted her eyes. She could feel her own cheeks glow warmly. By the Lord, she had never been a very good liar.

"You can cut the act, Esma! I've seen you—" Naveen held her breath when she realized she was embarrassing her friend by confronting her in public. She glanced to the seller, whom pretended to be deaf to their conversation, and cleared her throat. "Well, Esma, you should pick a few patterns you like and then we'll be off again." Her voice trembled in excitement. It was obvious that she couldn't wait to question Esma about the mysterious man.

Esma nodded in worry. What should she tell Naveen? She was aware of the Assassin— no wait, Naveen did not know Altair was an assassin. To outsiders he could pass as a scholar. She should probably hold on to that made-up fact.

Her hands slid over the smooth fabrics. Which pattern could turn into a beautiful dress? Would it make her more appealing to the Assassin? _Ah no!_ What was wrong with her? Was she honestly considering _seducing _an assassin? That was just plain idiotic. Why would she want a killing machine to fall for her anyway?

She chose three different patterns, quite moderate fabrics just to prove a point she did not need to seduce anyone with pretty dresses.

"Thank you for your patronage," the seller told her in gratitude, the amusement reflected in his eyes. Surely this was because he had overheard their disgraceful topic.

As soon as they had left the marketplace, Naveen dragged Esma towards a secluded garden; whom it belonged to they didn't know, but it appeared deserted and tranquil.

"Is this alright?" Esma remarked as she looked around her. Weren't they trespassing? The people who lived in these houses could easily look down on the garden from the second story.

"Esma!" Naveen squeaked and grabbed her shoulders. "Of course it's alright! It's not like we're breaking or stealing anything. More importantly: you _have_ to tell me everything about that man!"

Esma grunted in displeasure. By the Lord, how was she going to cover herself up?

"He's just a regular at our saloon. A scholar," she tried to look as oblivious as possible, "but there's nothing going on between him and myself. You must have misinterpreted the situation."

"A scholar? _Ooh_," Naveen clapped her hands together in excitement, completely ignoring Esma's denial. "This means he has much knowledge, right? You should ask your father to check up on his background!"

By the Lord, no! Only the thought of spending the rest of her life alongside an assassin made her cringe. She raised her hands in a defensive manner and tried to smile at Naveen, "No thanks, I prefer an... ordinary man." Her heart started to beat louder at the thought of the masculine Assassin.

"You can't kid me, Esma El Mouridi! I know a liar when I see one! Your cheeks are beautifully tainted pink. I think this man actually makes you—"

"Naveen!" Esma interrupted the other girl. "Please stop this nonsense. It's improper to push the matter."

"But I don't understand. You obviously seem to like this man and he is a scholar, which probably means he has a strong deen."

Esma cast her eyes down. He did have noble goals, but an _assassin?_ Who was she kidding. "Please drop the matter. I do not wish for this man to..." Get to know her? This was not true and she despised herself for that fact.

"Do not wish him to what? Now that I think about it, is this the man who..." Naveen's words trailed when she realized that this was the same man who had caused Esma's anxious behaviour the other day in the saloon. "Are you alright?" she asked in worry and put a hand on her friend's shoulder. "Did something happen between you two?"

Esma got up from the stone bench, making Naveen's hand slide from her shoulder. "I think the sun is just getting to me," she said nervously, ignoring her friend's concern. "It's probably best for me to go home."

Naveen quickly followed her example. "Should I walk you home?"

"No need. I'll be fine."

"Are you sure? Isn't that man going to stalk you?" As soon as she had voiced her concern, she paused and raised her brows in confusion. "But wait, you went after him today, not the other way around. What was that about?"

Esma hesitated for a moment, but then said: "I hadn't properly thanked him yet for his help". It was not far from the truth, but not entirely a lie, either.

"Helped you with what?"

"He took care of a thief that wanted to steal my pouch." She wiped the sweat from her forehead.

Naveen looked at her in awe. "Why wouldn't you be interested in a scholar who has both medical knowledge and bravery? If you don't want to seek him out, then remember to mention me the next time you or your father see him!"

Esma looked to the other girl, wondering if she was serious or just trying to lighten the mood with her remark. She decided to take it as a joke, as it would make matters less complicated. She slightly smiled, "Shame on you, Naveen".

Naveen laughed. "Why? It's only normal for a woman to find a capable man. To top that, he really wasn't bad looking."

"You haven't even seen his face," Esma said in surprise, not sure whether to laugh or cry over the matter. There was absolutely no chance she was going to introduce Naveen to an assassin.

Naveen grinned a cheeky smile and waved dismissively, "I've seen enough to form my opinion".

_By far not enough yet,_ Esma thought with a mental headshake. "You don't know someone until you've witnessed how they treat the people around them," Esma said and leaned forward to pull her friend into a brief embrace. "But I am sure a wise girl like yourself will be fine." She gave Naveen a pat on her back. "I really should be leaving now, please take care of yourself. May the Lord's mercy be upon you".

Naveen smiled, "May the Lord's mercy be upon you as well, Esma".

الله أكبر

Altaïr slid through the open roof, his gauntlet grazing over the stone edge in the process, and landed into the back garden of the bureau with a soft thud. He headed straight inside the building.

"Safety and peace, Malik," he called to the one-armed scholar at the counter. In his mind he could already hear the other's sneer resonate, but to his surprise, he was spared the scolding this time.

Malik immediately turned his attention to him and said: "Yes, yes, enough with the formalities already. Al Mualim has an assignment for you in the city. It is something you _should _be able to handle – whether you blow it with your arrogance again is another thing." He shifted a small pile of sketches from each other so that each one became clearly visible. "Here are you targets: Templars spread throughout the city. Their annihilation will serve as a warning."

Altaïr ignored the other's petulant comments and leaned over the sketches, taking in the positions of his targets.

"It shouldn't prove to be too much trouble," he remarked and straightened his back.

"Sure, let your _arrogance_ lead your way again!" Malik threw his hand in the air in irritation. "Your pretension will be your downfall one day, I swear. If not yourself," his voice lowered to a spiteful growl, "then surely you will take down others with your irresponsible behaviour".

Altaïr glared at the other man. He knew exactly what Malik was referring to, but refused to respond to his accusation.

"If you have nothing else to say I will be taking my leave."

Malik huffed in contempt, "I don't see why you even bother to announce your leave and waste my time. Just get out already".

Altaïr left the bureau without uttering another word.

Even though Malik had an ill temper, his frankness was a personality trait that Altaïr did not detest, despite this trait was not used to his favour. At least Malik's forward attitude left no room for misunderstandings.

He could smell the faint scent of the rain, informing him that the clouds would soon draw over the city. The moist air outside refreshed him. The past few days the city had the prosperity of the rare occurrence of the rainfall. Most people would flee the streets to find shelter, but he had also seen appreciative children play outside, trying to catch the sprinkling in their little hands.

Rain had its way of advantage as it would pose as a curtain of obscurity against the guards, making it easier for him to get away. Even when the slippery surfaces would prove more of a challenge, he trusted his skills to be outstanding enough not to be put back by the changing weather.

Altaïr rolled his shoulders and clenched his fists, crackling a few bones. He was born into the creed, which meant that stealth, assassination, combat and reading were practically the only aspects of life he was brought up with. Not to forget the limitations they were put on when pursuing romance, which was not entirely forbidden – for the creed needed successors after all – but Al Mualim would label romance a waste of time; an emotion that would make them weak.

He flicked the hidden blade from his left hand to test the weapon. In front of him was one of his targets. The apparent red cross on the uniform made the templar stand out from the crowd and a clear target that begged to be taken down. Altaïr picked up the pace until he was so close behind the man that he could hear him breathe. He flicked his gaze around, making sure no one was paying attention and then in one movement buried the blade in the others neck, cutting through cloth and flesh. Immediately he withdrew the blade and strode away like nothing had ever occurred.

Did he feel remorse over his assassinations? This was one of the questions the girl at the saloon had asked him. Obviously, corrupted figures as Talal and Majd Addin were not worthy of remorse. An assassin who was highly overcome by regret would at one point start to fear himself if he continued killing. This very fear could eventually paralyze him, and just the slightest hesitation could mean failure –or worse: death.

Yet when Esma had asked him the question, he had hesitated about how to respond. Was he taking into account how she would perceive him based on his answer? No, that was not the case. Lately he had been questioning whether everything was as forward as Al Mualim made it appear.

الله أكبر

Esma ran a cloth over the counter and found herself glancing towards the entree of the saloon too many times. It was almost time for maghrib, meaning they would close the shop soon. Altaïr still hadn't come by. She despised her anticipation for the Assassin. Even though he had shown a noble heart, he was still a murderer; a type of person she should not get involved with, let alone become enthusiastic for.

"In the name of the Lord," Maghrub called out, "why have there been so few customers today?" He eyed the door opening in expectation, as if just before closing time anyone would still barge in to order something.

Despite the unlikely occurrence, Esma still hoped that the Assassin wouldn't enter now when her father was staring at the entrance. If he would, it would appear as if they both had been desperately anticipating his visit, which would be embarrassing, but even more depressing was the fact that it would be the truth.

"I'm closing up. It's time to go to the mosque," Maghrub said as he shut the door and barricaded it with a wooden bar. "Are you tagging along?"

Esma let out a sigh, "No, I'll pray here today".

"Alright, whatever suits you." Maghrub headed to the washing room to wash himself up.

Esma cleaned the last bits up in the kitchen. Altaïr had said that he would 'perhaps' come by, which gave no guarantee he was coming whatsoever. Still, she couldn't help but strongly hope for his visit. He might have taken up on her offer to meet in the backyard. Once her father would go out, she'd go to the garden to wait for him.

"Will you be careful?" Maghrub said as he walked to the side door.

"Yes, father. You be careful as well on your way."

"Don't worry about me. If the Lord wills it everything will be fine."

"Praise the Lord," Esma said as she saw her father out and barricaded the door behind him. She always felt more at ease when no one could come inside while she was alone.

Her father usually went to the mosque without her. Sometimes he would leave the shop in her hands when he went out for prayer. She would then close the shop for a few minutes to allow herself the tranquillity for prayer.

Even if her father was very protective of her, he trusted the neighbours enough to leave her alone during these moments. She was grateful for his trust at times like these. It made the situation less suffocating, in contrary to going outside, which she was expected to ask Maher along for every step she would take. To her father's indignation, she didn't always do as she was asked to. This was not to purposely upset her father, but sometimes she just couldn't stand her cousin and his advances.

If her father knew about the incident with the city guards, he would surely ground her to the saloon. By the Lord, if the Assassin hadn't been there at the time she probably would have died right there. Although if he hadn't been there in the first place, the guards probably wouldn't have been so on edge, possibly resulting in overlooking her presence.

She took a deep breath and pulled the ribbon that held her braid together loose and made her way to the washing room. The Lord had willed everything. It was of no use thinking about different outcomes.

Had she thanked the Assassin properly? All she had offered were words in gratitude. Was it enough for saving her _life_? Even if it wasn't enough, what else could she possibly offer him? He was a deadly warrior and she was just an ordinary girl who knew nothing about smithing or fighting.

She might be worrying about these matters now, but perhaps all Altaïr wanted was another good meal at the saloon. She could allow him to eat for free. There was no need for her father to be aware of it; she'd just pay for him.

With that said, had Altaïr been too busy to visit their saloon today? Perhaps he had changed his mind about the visit. It was not like he'd come especially for her. Even if she deep, deep down secretly hoped he would, that didn't make wishful thinking any more likeable.

She looked to the girl on the other side of the mirror. This exact face had been the one that the dead guard had pinned so harshly in his hands. An expression of disgust drew over her face. Her stomach churned as she remembered how cruelly the man had died by the hands of Altaïr.

She didn't understand how a man striving for noble goals could be so heartless. He killed without mercy, yet he had felt the need to save her and aid her more than once. Even the time that she had cut herself with the knife he had quickly offered an herb. Back then she had doubted his intentions, but the more she learned of him, the more she felt he was a sincere person.

Still, it might be better not to wait for him in the garden. Getting involved with a dangerous person like him just didn't seem like a good idea. No matter how much she tried to convince herself, a little voice in the back of her mind told her to go and wait outside.

"Oh Esma El Mouridi," she said drearily to the girl in the mirror, "what is to become of you?"

After doing her prayers she found herself unable to go to bed without checking the back garden to see if the Assassin was there. _Pathetic, _she scolded herself with distaste, but it did little to withhold her from straying outside. Dressed in a black abaya she opened the backdoor, the chilly breeze making her hair stand on ends. The sky was a warm, dark blue shade, highlighting the stars subtly.

Contradicting thoughts raced through her mind. She shouldn't be here, but she wanted to learn more about him and The Brotherhood. It was the mysteriousness around him that drew her to him. His creed wanted to oppose all parties in order to gain... peace? Power? Perhaps a society of equality? But why through _murder_? Was there no less violent way? She ran a hand through her long, soft locks and sighed. Her desire to understand was going to kill her. Literally.

Time crawled by sluggishly as she walked around the garden in anticipation, checking the walls every few moments to see whether he had arrived yet. Finally she seated herself on the cool bench as her lids became heavy with sleep. She decided to lie down for a moment, and folded her hands under her head to use them as a cushion. The stone bench felt cold against her cheek.

Her mouth drew to a thin line in discontent. The thought that Altaïr was not coming depressed her and she hated the feeling, knowing it was stupid of her to let herself dragged into such emotions, but she could not help herself. She reminded herself that he had not made any promises to visit her and that she had absolutely no right to feel disappointed, but her emotions did not always go well with reason.

"Praise the Lord. May He guide me," she muttered, barely being able to hold back a yawn.

Slightly turning her head she watched the wonderful black sky filled with twinkling, crystal stars. The miraculous starry sky reminded her how small the matters she felt at the moment actually were. Some things were out of their reach. Everything would go as the Lord had willed it. Nothing would happen without his consent and thus she shouldn't pain herself about it.

الله أكبر

"_Esma!"_ A strangely familiar man's voice sounded.

Esma slowly opened her eyes. The first thing she noticed was a white blur on the wall. Her heart skipped a beat at the sight.

_Altaïr! _

He was squatted on the garden wall once again. She quickly sat upright and felt her cheeks heat up by his presence. So he had come after all. Looking around her, she noted that the sun had already started to break through, covering the sky in a warm, reddish hue.

"_ESMA!"_ His voice was a harsh whisper.

She frowned in confusion at his impatience as she had heard him the first time. There was no need to raise voices, but perhaps it was because she had not answered him yet. She quickly opened her mouth to respond, but for some odd reason her voice was stuck in her throat and she simply failed to utter even the simplest word.

"_Wake up! You need to open the door!" _

_You're on the wall! You don't need to use the door. _The thoughts raced through her head, wanting to be conveyed to the Assassin, but they were still stuck in her throat. In great frustration Esma tried to cough some sound from her lungs, but nothing of the sort happened.

"Esma! Are you awake? Open the door!"

Suddenly she felt the hard surface of the stone bench against her cheek, causing her to instinctively jerk her head up. Leaning on her right arm she looked around her groggily. The sun had not risen yet at all; it was still night. She scratched her head and yawned. She must have fallen asleep and dreamt about _him_. Would her mind not give her a break from the Assassin?

"Esma!" The voice called her again.

Esma's eyes widened and she turned her head. This voice was not the Assassin's, it was her own father! Had the voice in her dream also belonged to her father? If that was the case, then he had been shouting there for far too long! The poor man!

Esma immediately shot up and rushed inside the house to open the door, revealing a very agitated looking Maghrub.

"Peace upon you, father! I am so terribly sorry for falling asleep!" Esma bowed her head in apology, feeling ashamed for locking the man outside.

"Peace upon you as well, Esma. I'm glad to see you are doing well! I feared something had happened to you," Maghrub said, heaving a loud sigh in relief. He walked inside the house and barricaded the door. "Don't feel bad about it. Sometimes it's good to test this old man's nerves. As long as you're fine, I have nothing to be upset about."

"So sorry for falling asleep," she muttered again, still feeling stupid over her mess-up.

"It's alright." Maghrub placed a hand on her shoulder. "You didn't miss your prayer due to falling asleep? Don't let the shaytaan get to you."

Esma nodded, "I know, father." She thought about the fact that keeping the shaytaan away had become harder with the Assassin's existence in her life now. It came together with lies, danger and anxiety.

"Good night, dear. Peace be upon you," Maghrub said and kissed her on the side of her head. Without waiting for her reply, he headed to his bedroom.

"Peace be upon you as well, father," Esma called after him.

When the door closed behind him, she let her shoulders hunch in exhaustion. Altaïr hadn't come today. What was she expecting anyway? An assassin must have far more important matters to attend to than visiting some girl from the saloon, who even failed to open a simple door for her own father. If anything, she should probably be grateful that a dangerous figure like himself didn't come by today. Still, she could not help but feel disappointed by his absence.

الله أكبر

Altaïr jumped through the bureau roof and landed with a heavy grunt, his hand grasping his left side firmly. The Assassin inhaled deeply through his nose and took a few moments to adjust to the pain. Slowly he rose to his feet again and walked inside the bureau. Peering through the dark room he noticed Malik in the corner on a bedroll, presumably just woken up from sleep.

"It's me," Altaïr said in a low voice and hauled himself in a chair. "Safety and peace, Malik."

Rustling sounded through the quiet and obscured room. Malik had thrown the sheets off and made his way to the other Assassin.

"It seems like safety wasn't a priority on your list, novice," the scholar remarked, eyeing Altaïr in the dark, who was still clutching his side and breathing heavily. "Such a simple task and you still manage to fail. Unbelievable."

"I did not fail," Altaïr immediately corrected, ignoring the too low rank the other referred him to, "All targets have been eliminated."

"You were _stabbed_," Malik sneered and lit a candle, "What were you doing out there? You were supposed to hide in plain sight, but you made fool out of yourself." He closed their distance to shed light onto the wound. "An amateur like yourself doesn't deserve redemption. What was Al Mualim thinking?"

Altaïr disregarded the other's harsh words and carefully removed his hand from his side. The red sash was coloured darkly by the blood, a bit had seeped through the white robe as well. He looked up as Malik put the candle on the counter with a smack.

"You're a disgrace to The Brotherhood," the Dai muttered under his breath as he rummaged through a chest, pulling out bandages and herbs.

"I was just careless," Altaïr huffed in annoyance. "No one has to know about this." He hesitated for a moment and looked up at the Dai, but the other's focus was on the herbs. "We all make mistakes," he finally said and then unbuckled the leather belt around his waist to pull the robe over his head, groaning at the biting pain caused by the movement.

"There's a difference between a plain mistake and the denial of one's weaknesses," Malik shot back. "You are of the worse kind; stubborn like a donkey and ignorant like a child."

"That is quite enough," Altaïr said and he glared at the one-armed scholar. "Are you going to help me or not?"

"Who else will if I won't?" Malik snarled over his shoulder.

The scholar washed his hand and grabbed a bottle of mixed wine and rose oil to disinfect the wound. Altaïr sucked in the air at the burning sensation and ground his teeth together.

"I will stab you if you cry," Malik growled. "Here, you'll have to tie the suture and the needle together." He gave Altaïr a cloth to wipe his hands with and waited patiently till he had done so before handing him the instruments. Malik turned to bring the candle closer.

Without much thought Altaïr pulled the suture through the needle and handed it back to Malik.

"Push the edges of the wound to each other," Malik commanded.

Altaïr complied without contradiction. He watched the other man inspect the wound intensively. "Thank you," he said gruffly, finding it harder to voice than he had imagined.

The other groaned in response. "Don't think for one moment I am glad to aid you. You have disturbed my sleep with your incompetence." As if to get back at the Assassin he pulled the needle through his flesh without warning.

Altaïr ground his molars together in response. "You are natural light sleeper," he said between gritted teeth, "It's not my fault you wake up to the slightest sound."

"Arrogant _and _ungrateful. Why am I even helping you!" Malik called out and shook his head in disbelief. "I should just let you bleed to death." Despite his threats, he continued stitching the wound.

Altaïr silently stared at the flickering light of the candle and listened to his own heartbeat. He thought of the girl of the saloon and wondered if she was still waiting for him.

"Will you hold still!" Malik snarled, making him snap out of his thoughts.

Altaïr decided against replying and pushed the edges of his wounds a bit further against each other instead, hoping Malik would be encouraged to quickly continue the stitching, which he did.

After a painful while later Malik removed the needle and stood up. He eyed his colleague attentively. "What made you lose your focus?" His voice was harsh, but there was no hostility in it.

Altaïr pushed the herbs against the stitched wound and bandaged himself firmly. Had he been distracted during the fight? No. He had just been overwhelmed and outnumbered. "I didn't lose my focus. The man was just lucky to have found an opening."

Malik made a sound of contempt. "If you really are a master assassin you shouldn't have any openings."

Altaïr didn't answer. He knew he had failed himself.

"I have been told you have been visiting a woman."

Amber eyes flicked towards Malik, examining his face intently. "I haven't been visiting anyone," Altaïr said steadily, "Who told you such nonsense?"

"The source is of unimportance. If word gets out you were wounded because your mind was on a woman—"

"There was no such thing," Altaïr cut him off curtly. "If you want to spread lies then do as you see fit."

Malik sighed and stared at the stand with the cushions. "Don't compare me to those likes. I'm only reminding you that romance weakens you."

"Where does this nonsense come from?"

Malik shrugged his shoulders and blew the candle out, causing the room to be instantly engulfed by darkness. "If it's not true than you should concern yourself over your incompetent combat skills instead of lowly gossip." The Dai blindly stalked to his bedroll and tugged himself in.

Altaïr frowned in thought. Incompetent combat skills? He doubted it. Still, Malik had a point. The Templar had been lucky to land a hit on him and one wrong move could be his last. Being more cautious in the future wouldn't hurt.

He stood up from the chair and walked towards the open roof.

The night breeze was chilling against his naked chest. He winced as he turned his torso to grab the pole to close off the fence. The rusty metal scraped across the stone surface loudly, causing Malik to grunt in annoyance in the back.

Had the thought of visiting Maghrub's Saloon distracted him? No, of course not. The mere gossip was even making him consider nonsensical reasons. He threw the pole to the side and headed inside the bureau to call it a night.

* * *

**Beta reader:** Kingsparrow

**Author notes:** Hi guys, I hope you are all doing well! Thank you very much for reading up to chapter 8. The next update might take a while as I have some resits I have to finish before September – plus I threw out my computer. So at the moment I am at school, editing the last bits and pieces of the chapter – completely confused by the Mac System they have.

Please leave a review! As I have a new beta-reader, I hope that the flow is fine and there are no noticeable inconsistencies in style compared the previous chapters. Though I'm guessing there won't be :P.

Thanks for all the favourites, followings and reviews! They always make my day! *gives you all free hugs*


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